


Summer Of Lust '85

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (both the character and the injury are major), 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub Play, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Handcuffs, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Masturbation, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Nudity, Oral Sex, Post-Season 2, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, Skinny Dipping, Spanking, Underage Drinking, moving into post-season 3, serious misuse of an ice-cream scoop, sexy photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington being dumb as a box of rocks in the summer of 1985. Featuring bad decisions, dead-end jobs, miscommunication, the occasional possession, and feelings all over the place. Please heed the explicit rating, and any extra tags above each chapter.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 210
Kudos: 247





	1. Scoops Ahoy!

There’s a back corridor in Starcourt connecting the individual stores which allows you to sneak from the Scoops Ahoy ice-cream parlor into the cinema. Which means that for the low, low price of one movie ticket , Billy Hargrove can saunter in through the cinema entrance, get himself a sneaky ride of Steve Harrington’s cock, and be back before the film ends with nobody the wiser.

It’s not the dumbest thing he’s ever done, but it’s definitely up there.

He opens the door to the back of the ice-cream parlor carefully, after all there’s always a chance the girl might be in the back room instead. Billy can already tell he has no chance with her, and it’s not like he warns Harrington when he’s turning up. It is usually around the same time, on the same days, but that’s only because it fits in best with both their work schedules, not because he’s desperate or anything. If he dresses carefully, in his leather jacket, loose open shirt, and favorite cologne, it’s because he wants to flirt with the girl at the cinema kiosk, not to look good for Harrington. They’re only doing this because both of them are young, horny, and currently going through a dry patch. It’ll stop the minute one of them gets a girlfriend.

Nevertheless, it stings a little when Harrington turns around and scowls at him, not looking even remotely pleased at Billy striding into the back room in his best getting-laid outfit, “What the hell do you want, Hargrove?”

“You know what I want.”

“I’m working. We can’t keep doing this.”

Billy stalks over. Maybe Harrington is just pissed because while Billy gets to smarten up and prepare himself, Steve is stuck in the world's gayest work uniform outside of a go-go dancer. In fact, Billy is pretty sure he’s seen at least one go-go dancer in Cali dressed in a very similar way. He wraps his hands around the sailor striped waist and lifts Steve up, depositing him on top of the stainless-steel work surface where he gives an indignant squawk.

“What the hell!”

“Shut up and get your shorts down.”

Steve glares at him, but scrambles to do as he asks, “What’s the matter, being stared at by middle aged cougars all day wasn’t doing it for you?”

“Like you’re doing any better.”

“At least I talk to girls my own age.” Steve rolls his briefs down and slides his cock out. It’s already half hard and Billy unconsciously licks his lips.

“Yeah, and you still can’t get laid.”

Steve looks like he’s about to reply, so Billy surges forward, hands on those hot tight thighs, to slide his mouth all the way down the semi-hard cock as it grows eagerly in his mouth. That shuts Steve up alright, his hands grab at Billy’s shoulders and he pants desperately, eyes wide and unfocused.  It’s a good look. Billy might take a few glances up at it while he works away. Only brief ones though, because it’s not like it matters that it’s  _ Steve _ . It’s a hard warm cock, that’s all he’s here for. Hard, warm,  _ irritatingly _ well-endowed, and attached to a cutie with eyes a weaker guy could get lost in. 

He feels Steve tremble and gasp. The hands on his shoulders tighten and Billy pulls away, letting the cock slip slowly out of his mouth with a noisy slurp. Above him, Steve groans.

“Ah shit, I was  _ just there _ Hargrove.”

“Yeah you were. And I wasn’t. Get down.”

Steve levers himself off the work-surface with a scowl, reaching forward to pet Billy's jacket. “You got a condom?”

“Nope.” Shit. “Used them all on Mrs Wheeler.”

That gets him a disgusted noise in answer. “C’mon man, you are  _ not _ fucking Nancy’s mum.”

Billy gives a wide smug grin, “How do you know I’m not?”

“Why would you be here if you were?”

The grin vanishes into a scowl and Billy turns around, finding a convenient table to brace himself against and undoing his jeans. “Whatever. So I’m not fucking her. So I’m clean. So you can fuck me already instead of running your dumb mouth off.”

Steve’s hands reach forward to tug his boxers down. Billy bites his lip because that always,  _ always _ feels good. It shouldn’t, he knows, it should feel all kinds of humiliating and wrong but the thought of how eager Steve is to get inside him, the thought of how he can make the boy fall apart simply by existing and being as hot and sexy as he is … damn it’s an aphrodisiac. Steve’s hands rub and squeeze at the muscle of his ass, but he can sense the hesitation. Billy bites back a growl of frustration, he hasn’t come all this way  _ not _ to get fucked.

“What is it, trust fund, don’t you trust me?”

Steve gives a snort, “I would  _ never _ trust you.”

That stings a bit as well, if he’s honest, “Well fucking think of something before I freeze my balls off.”

The hand pets his ass a few more times then moves away. Harrington’s cock is next, bouncing off his ass-cheeks a few times, and then finally his fingers, rubbing wetly against the ring of his ass. Billy sighs and squirms, wondering if a quick diddle from Disgusted Housewife of Scoops Ahoy is all he’s getting today, but the fingers are more stretching than teasing. By now Steve knows a few easy ways to get Billy off, and this is none of them. That’s enough to keep Billy interested, to make him wonder if something else is planned. The fingers move and then something else is there, something that rests against his more than eager hole before pressing firmly against it.

Something smooth. Something metallic. Something  _ cold _ .

Billy gives a yelp, his hands scrabbling at the table below him. It’s too cold, and too big, but it’s also short-circuiting his libido and sending every drop of blood inside him rushing downwards. For a few intense minutes he can do nothing but make helpless little whines as the thing slowly inches its way up him. He’s about ready to cry when it comes to a stop, not because of pain, this isn’t  _ pain, _ it’s just utterly and completely overwhelming him.

God damn it Harrington.

He feels a hand pet gently at his hair and gives a slightly embarrassing sniffle. Slowly, Steve Harrington’s face slides into focus, and lays a gentle kiss on the side of his forehead. It’s so sweet, and so out of place, that Billy whimpers. He hates looking weak, hates being weak, but he also knows not a breath of what happens between them will ever get out. He’s safe with whatever happens here, because for Harrington to tell would incriminate both of them.

A hand runs gently down his side. “Shhh. Okay. Are you okay?”

Billy’s voice sounds raspy in his ears. “What the hell is that?”

“Ice cream scoop.”

That makes him laugh, shakily and uncertainly, but it’s enough to get an answering smile out of Harrington. First time he’s seen him smile all day. Reaching a hand up, Billy gently twines it into Steve’s fingers. Fuck it, if they’re doing this why not do it all the way?

“You’re a filthy little shit, Harrington.”

“They disinfect ‘em.”

“Fuck it’s big.”

“Yeah. Looks amazing. Like … going up inside you it looked … wow.”

Billy takes a deep breath, grounding himself, getting his bearings. The cold is fading a little, but the heavy metallic fullness is still very much there. “You gonna move it, or what?”

Steve reaches back, and for a good few moments the world spins in beautiful colors before Steve whispers, “Can I cum over your ass?”

“No…” Billy mumbles, but it’s a weak and quiet mumble. The metal scoop slides out of him entirely and he gives a desperate whine, “Wait …”

“Please can I cum over your ass?” Steve kisses below his ear then nibbles at the ear lobe. That is just straight up cheating, how did Harrington learn so many sneaky tricks? “They got another scoop they store in the fridge, I think that one’s even bigger.”

Billy gives a deep moan and lets his head bang forward into the table. He’s officially whipped. “Unh. Yeah. Fine. Good. Go get it.”

Harrington scoots off, and just for a moment Billy feels a crushing sense of panic. Shame and guilt wash over him all at once. Why is he here, bent over a table, waiting for some looser twink to shove the non-scoopy end of an ice-cream scoop inside him? It’s wrong in every kind of way he’s been told is wrong. For a moment he’s half tempted to stand up and make a run for it, keep running until he’s back at the cinema kiosk chatting up the cute girl there. Then Steve is back, and Steve’s fingers are twined around his, and Steve’s lips are rubbing against his ear, smelling of sweat, and strawberry, and that girly hairspray. 

“Ready?” Steve breaths into his ear.

“Don’t get any cum on my jacket.” Billy growls back, because he’s got to save some face.

Steve laughs, and then the cold unforgiving metal is back at his arse. Suddenly nothing else matters in the world, nothing else  _ is  _ in the world except the overwhelming fission of freezing fullness and the smell of Steve Harrington.

Billy hopes, deep down, that Steve Harrington never gets himself a girlfriend. There’s no way in hell he ever wants to give this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALWAYS USE CONDOMS KIDS. For oral, for anal, for toys. Don't be like Billy.
> 
> Also maybe don't invite sexy lifeguards to your place of work to insert items in them without consent in a food preparation area.


	2. You have a pool!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy visits the Harrington house.
> 
> Warnings for skinny-dipping, underage drinking, nudity, sex, and nobody really communicating the way they are supposed to.

There’s something very strange about showing someone around your house when you’ve already been fucking them for a good month. Steve invites Billy in, and then awkwardly gives him the tour, opening doors at random and trying to find some fact to say about the room inside that isn’t blindingly obvious. He isn’t even sure why he  _ is _ giving Billy a tour, only that the first thing he said when Billy entered the house was a polite and automatic, “Shall I show you around?”

Billy was the dumbass who said yes.

So now they’re tramping around his house with Steve explaining where the third bathroom is, like a confused 40s housewife failing to entertain her guests. The whole embarrassing rigmarole is only stopped when Steve waves his hand at the French windows and says, in the stilted awkward voice he’s been using all evening, “That’s the patio and the pool, and behind that is the-”

“You have a pool?”

Of course, Billy likes swimming. It’s pretty much the only thing he’s vaguely capable of doing without getting into trouble, which is why he managed to grab one of the three half-way decent summer jobs going in Hawkins. Now Steve thinks about it, he should have probably started with the pool, but there are reasons he doesn’t like mentioning it. Pool parties came to a crashing halt the moment Barb vanished at one.

Billy doesn’t know about that though, and he’s already tugging his shirt over his head as he starts towards the French windows. “You lucky son of a bitch, you have an actual  _ pool _ .”

“Yeah…” Steve manages weakly, as Billy opens the doors and undoes his jeans. “Do you need to borrow a pair of - oh - okay. You don’t.”

The jeans hit the decking as Billy steps forward, naked and supremely unconcerned about it. If he keeps staring at Billy’s ass, Steve decides, maybe he can forget about the fact that the last time he was in this pool his ex-girlfriends best-friend was horrifically devoured by a creature from another dimension. Billy steps up onto the diving board and Steve has a sudden desperate urge to tell him to stop, to be careful not to cut himself or bleed into the water. He has a gripping feeling of terror that if Billy jumps, he’ll never come back up again.

Then Billy jumps, the water splashes, and Billy comes back up again, hair wet and smile gleaming. “You lucky fuck, Harrington.”

Yeah. Lucky. 

Slowly, Steve moves closer. It helps that it’s still light, the shadows long in the warm summer evening. He kicks his shoes off, then tugs his socks off. He can sit near the pool, that will be fine. And he can watch Billy who is currently showing off as much gleaming wet skin as he can, that will also be fine. A few strong kicks and Billy is leaning on the side of the pool, staring up at him. Over the last month or so, Steve has seen a few new sides of Billy, beyond the crazy enraged older brother trying to beat his face in. He’s seen Billy gasping in pleasure, smirking in satisfaction, soft and sleepy in a post-orgasmic haze. He’s never seen this though; a Billy relaxed and smiling who looks just happy to exist. He’s never seen Billy in water before.

“Can you even swim?” Billy laughs at him.

Steve rolls his eyes up, sitting by the side of the pool and letting his legs dangle into the water. It’s a convenient enough excuse, “Not so well.”

“I’ll teach you!” 

“Yeah … I … maybe later.”

A splash of water makes him swear and flinch and then Billy’s back in the middle of the pool again, laughing, “You are such a coward, Harrington.”

“And you’re an asshole.” 

Billy gives a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows and Steve splashes water back at him, before levering himself up. “Enjoy the pool, you want a beer?”

“No beer near the water.” Says Lifeguard Billy automatically, followed by a considered, “Yeah, why not.”

Inside the house it’s cooler, more so now his legs are wet under his shorts. Steve grabs the beer as fast as he can, going for bottles rather than cans because watching Billy shotgun a beer might just send too much panic flooding back. He comes back to rest on the sunlounger, working his way through a bottle of beer and watching the sun slowly sink, pretending to ignore the hot naked man doing backstroke in his pool. Cautiously, Steve allows himself to feel happy. 

Eventually Billy tires, hauling himself out of the pool against the side, despite the fact that the steps are  _ right there _ and it’s not as if anyone else is using them. He comes across to the sunlounger to drip all over Steve, who complains, hands him a beer, and then reaches across to cup the soft wet cock that is currently at exactly the right position for him to do so.

Billy’s eyes rise up into his hairline, “God-damn Harrington, desperate is not a good look on you.”

“Your fault for being naked.”

“Are you going to drag me up to your bedroom by the dick?” It’s an intriguing idea, and Billy doesn’t sound as if he minds it, but Steve has other plans.

“I want to fuck you here. By the pool. Ideally on the diving board.” If that doesn’t exorcise his demons, nothing will.

Trained lifeguard eyes professionally assess the state of the diving board. “That could go … very badly wrong.”

“Next to the diving board then.”

“Don’t panic, sweetheart, we’ll work your diving board fetish into this somewhere.” Billy smirks, and reaches down to tug at Steve’s hair. “Can I have my beer first?”

Steve hands it over, levering himself off the sunlounger. “I’ll go get a condom.”

“You still don’t trust me, Harrington?”

“It’s just good sense man. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

He pretends not to see the flash of hurt in Billy’s eyes, although it still irritates him. He’s not about to start rawing the town’s skankiest love-rat, and he has no idea why Billy seems to take it personally every single time. Maybe because despite his best efforts at the poolside, Billy still seems to have no options for a quickie other than a dead-end mall-worker.

He grabs a couple of condoms, and the lube, and scoots back down to the pool. Billy is sitting on the diving board, almost exactly like Barb was when Steve last had a glimpse of her. Except instead of being hunched over and sad, Billy is leaning back with a bottle of beer, wearing nothing but a loose open shirt. His hair is hanging in damp tendrils around his face, eyelashes damp and his stupid new tattoo still a little red-looking. Steve steps forward, suddenly feeling like a prissy 40s housewife again. “I got the … uh … “ 

Billy turns to look at him, then lifts the beer bottle up to his mouth. Tipping his head back he swallows, and swallows, and drinks the rest of the bottle all the way down in deep gulps. When he’s finished Steve is hard, because Steve is apparently still a dumb horny teenager. Scooting backwards rather inelegantly, Billy swings his legs back onto land, then kneels on the tiles and bends his body forward over the board, “This do it for you?”

That will do fine. Steve comes over, already reaching forward for Billy’s gleaming naked ass. He drops his shorts, pulling out his cock, trying to overlay any memories of that night with the new image of Billy. He squirts lube all over his fingers and presses them forward, rubbing into the hot wet cleft of Billy’s arse. Despite what Billy keeps insisting, he absolutely can _ not _ take it without at least a little prep, and today Steve wants to make it feel good.

And then Billy has to open his mouth, “What is it Harrington, you fuck an ex down here or something?”

“No.” Steve grunts back, but Billy’s words have made him remember Nancy. It was his first night in a bed with Nancy. King of Hawkins High, banging the prettiest girl he’d ever met, really the first girl he’d actually loved. His cock starts to soften, and he desperately strokes it. He tries to focus on the gleaming edges and muscle of Billy Hargrove, rather than the way Nancy had looked in the moonlight, the edges of her eyes, the curve of her mouth. Fuck.

He steps back so he can use both hands on his cock. Billy’s head whirls around and he stares at him in deep confusion, “What the hell?”

“Sorry … I … “

“Right.” Billy stands up. Steve is about to apologize but then Billy hauls him up in a fireman’s lift and he gives a yelp instead, “Hey - what!”

“You have five bedrooms, Harrington, I ain’t being fucked on the tiles like a misbehaving pool-boy. We can do that any time, okay? Right now, we’re going up to your room, and you are going to eat me out until whatever the hell is up your ass right now crawls away and dies.”

Steve shudders, “I said I wasn’t going to do that.”

“You said I wasn’t clean enough, I’ve just spent a good hour in a pool.” Billy aims a slap at his ass, and Steve gives a breathless laugh as he’s carried up through his own house and into his bedroom. Clearly, Billy was listening to the tour.

Billy drops him on the bed and Steve immediately reaches up and yanks him down by his shirt. “I said I’m not doing that.”

“Bitch.” Billy smirks, snapping teeth at his lips, “I’ll get you to one day.”

This is much better, Steve has to admit. The bedroom is warm and safe, and Billy is beautiful and damp and very good at kissing. Strong arms wrap around his shoulders and Steve is more than happy to melt against the lips next to his, to open his mouth and let Billy’s tongue do all the beautiful things it knows how to do. His fingers reach forward to brush over Billy’s nipples, to feel them harden and shiver. When Billy starts to moan and grind against him he knows he’s won. 

Scooting back he tugs his polo shirt over his head. Billy reaches for him, kissing along his chest and sides as Steve gets his shorts off. He grabs at Billy’s ass with both hands, kneading and squeezing and then finally getting his fingers inside it like he’s wanted to since the moment Billy turned up at his front door. Billy arches back and moans, letting Steve’s fingers rub and stretch and open him up, and when Steve rips the condom packet open with his teeth Billy grabs at it, slides it down over Steve’s cock and then slides himself down over the top of it, leaving Steve gasping and breathless. 

“This good enough, pretty boy?”

Steve gives a garbled moan in answer.

“I’ll take you down Hawkins pool one evening, okay? All the diving boards you could ever want.”

At some point in the near future, Steve realizes hazily, he is going to have to find some way to explain to Billy Hargrove that he does not, in fact, have a fetish for swimming pools.

Billy’s lifeguard uniform, on the other hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I don't know what happened here, I wanted them to fuck at the pool.   
> Steve is ... very oblivious.


	3. Blue boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for: oral, fingering, rimming, 69ing, porn, complete lack of condoms

It made sense for Billy to come round to Steve’s house. It’s both comfier and more hygienic than the back room of Scoops Ahoy, and far safer given it’s empty of other people. It didn’t occur to Steve at the time that it would open the door to the possibility of the reverse, and so it’s with an understandable sense of trepidation that he parks up the road from the Hargrove house drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of the bimmer.

From the outside it looks … small. Sort of like Jonathan’s place except without the continuous chaos. Mind you, he’s only ever seen the Byers’s mid-way through an invasion of demon-creatures from another dimension. It might look tidier in more normal circumstances. The front door of the Hargrove residence is so spotless that Steve feels awkward knocking, and almost surprised when it opens to reveal Billy in a sleeveless denim jacket and a scowl. 

“You’d better have parked way up the road, Harrington”

Inside the floors are gleaming, the wood and brickwork freshly painted in shades of teal and peach. There are bits and pieces that have clearly come from California, a piece of artfully shaped driftwood and a glass vase filled with shells. Steve finds himself strangely impressed. He’s used to thinking of Billy as a careless mess, and the house seems very much at odds with that. Apart from a set of neatly stacked weights, the communal living areas are remarkably free from any signs that two teenagers live here. 

There’s no tour of this house. Billy silently leads him down the corridor to his room. Here, at least, it feels a bit more familiar. The walls are adorned with peeling posters of semi-naked girls and bands, and crushed cans of beer lean precariously against an overflowing plate trying to act as an ashtray. A skinny full-length mirror rests at a rakish angle behind a sound-system which has been balanced on the only available surface in the room. The rest of the space contains a closet, with both doors open and draped in shirts. 

It smells reassuringly of Billy.

Steve sits politely on the bed, leg jiggling up and down, watching as Billy stalks over to the window and takes a glance out of it. What he’s expecting to see at this time of day Steve has no idea. This is even more awkward than the first time Billy came to his house, not least because Billy’s bedroom is clearly about half the size of his. It seems to make Billy nervous as well, he’s acting jumpy and on edge. There’s a battered packet of cigarettes resting on top of the sound system and Billy picks it up, sticking one of them into his mouth and patting his pockets for a lighter.

Where would Billy keep a lighter? Steve reaches across and opens the top drawer of the nightstand, more out of curiosity than anything else. He isn’t expecting the two battered Penthouse magazines he sees inside, and he looks up at Billy, a grin on his lips, “Woah, what the hell is this?”

That breaks the tension at least. Billy smirks back at him. “What does it look like, Harrington?”

“Um, like you keep jerk-off material in your nightstand?”

“Where else am I gonna keep it?” Billy finally locates a lighter and blows a stream of smoke at the closet, his eyes amused and challenging.

Steve gives the top one a poke. “What if your dad finds it.”

“He’s meant to, that’s why it’s there.”

“What?” Steve gives Billy a look of deep confusion. “You want him to - damn if my old man found this sort of thing in my bedroom…”

“Yeah well,” The cigarette doesn’t seem to be calming Billy down as he moves away from the window, coming over to crouch by the bed, “He considers it’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?” Steve asks, mystified. 

Another smirk from Billy. “The alternative is  _ under _ the bed.” 

There’s something he’s missing, Steve knows, and it’s something Billy finds very obvious and self-evident. Maybe this is some sort of trap. Slowly, he knocks a hand against the wooden bed frame, not sure whether he’s expecting something to jump out at him. “Under the bed?”

Billy gives him a complicated look, then kicks a foot at the wooden frame which levers out to reveal the under-bed space. Bending forward, Steve can see it mostly contains moving boxes covered in dust and discarded items of clothing. Billy shuffles under and comes out with a flatter box. There’s no dust on this one.

“You ready for this, pretty boy?”

“Yes.” Steve answers quickly, pretending to know what’s going on.

A close up photo of a man is the first thing he sees as Billy flips the box open. He’s topless, with blond hair curling around his ears as he pouts at the camera. It’s a magazine that for some reason has decided to feature a dude instead of a lady as the front-page model. Mouth dry, Steve reaches out and shuffles it out of the way. Below it is another magazine, another man, and although this one is wearing a vest he somehow looks even more suggestive. Underneath it Steve can see more of them, all with  _ blueboy _ emblazoned across the top in bold proud letters.

Steve takes a deep shuddering breath, blowing the air out slowly, “Woah. Man. I mean … woah.”

He looks up to find Billy’s eyes staring directly at him, hard and antagonistic. Billy is still crouched, like a tiger ready to pounce, like he’s not sure how Steve will react. If it comes to it,  _ Steve _ isn’t quite sure how he’s going to react. He pulls an issue of  _ blueboy _ out of the box and flips curiously through it. That confirms his suspicions at least, that the inside is as masculine-focused as the outside was.

“Why…” he manages eventually, “Why do you have gay skin magazines under your bed?”

“Because I can’t put them in the nightstand.”

What Steve wants to ask is why Billy has them at all. He’s been running on the assumption that the only reason Billy is happy to take his cock is because he can’t get a girl. An explanation which, now he thinks about it, makes very little sense given the eagerness with which Billy jumps at the chance to suck dick. It doesn’t really seem like the action of a man filling in between girlfriends. The thought that Billy is looking at this type of thing, jerking off to it, suddenly lurches things into strange new territory that Steve doesn’t really feel comfortable in.  _ Blueboy _ falls open at a page of three firefighters in varying amounts of uniform, and Steve lets out a nervous giggle. “Really, this is … this gets you going?”

“Shocked, Harrington?”

Everything has to be a fight with Billy. Steve isn’t here for a fight, but with Billy practically vibrating with anger and nervous tension, Steve isn’t sure if it’s avoidable. “Well, yeah. I guess I am. I wasn’t expecting …  _ this _ .”

Abruptly Billy stands up. Steve flinches back on the bed, but Billy heads back to the window, fiddling with the blinds as he smokes. “You wanna leave, you can leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then what the fuck do you want?”

Steve panics slightly, not sure how he’s managed to give the impression that he wants anything. “I dunno man, I mean … I kinda like how things are now.”

There’s silence from Billy, and Steve tries to work out which bit of that sentence he messed up. Carefully, he takes another issue of  _ blueboy _ out of the box and flips through until he finds a surfer, with long dark hair braided down his back, and beach shorts hanging obscenely low around his hips. Long braids in Steve’s mind have always been associated with girls, yet somehow this picture is undeniably and unavoidably masculine. “I - uh - I kinda like this one.”

Billy turns around, his movements slow and wary. “Are you taking the piss, Harrington?”

“No! I mean, I’ve never seen this kind of thing before but I could see how you would, how you could…” he flips over a few more pages, to an interview with a construction worker wearing torn-off jean shorts and a white vest, “See that’s … yeah, that’s artistic. The photo, with the light and the background and all. It’s like the sort of thing Byers would take, you know?”

He feels a strong sense of relief as Billy’s lip twitches, “Byers?”

“Well not that he’s, I mean … fuck knows…” Steve gives a snigger, Billy matches it, and suddenly Billy is striding over, grabbing the front of Steve’s shirt and hauling him up for a dizzying kiss.

It seems to last several minutes, and the world spins a little as Billy pulls away. “You are such a shit, Harrington.”

“Am I?” Steve isn’t going to deny it, but he would like to know why. The casual insult seems at odds with Billy’s hands, which are yanking up his polo shirt, and tugging down his jeans, as Billy reaches forward to kiss over every exposed inch of his skin.

“Such a little shit…” the jeans are down and Billy’s hands are stroking his cock up, strong and sure, “I swear to god you deserve a slap for that.”

“Do I?”

“Come here.” Billy’s hands drag his hips forward and then Billy’s head ducks down and Steve feels his eyes roll up as he’s treated to the most intensely fierce blowjob he’s ever been given in his life. His hips buck, his eyes roll, and he almost yells down the house until he cums hard and fierce into Billy’s mouth. And Billy doesn’t  _ stop _ , he swings Steve’s legs onto the bed, then works away with his tongue over Steve’s cock, and balls, and down further until Steve is crying out  _ again _ , his cock hardening up as Billy’s tongue pokes and rubs at the sensitive pucker of his ass. It’s unbearably sensitive, overstimulated, and as soon as his cock is hard Billy’s mouth is back on it. At some point in the intervening time, Billy’s shucked his jeans down and twisted around on the bed, and Steve finds his hands gently pressed against a very hard cock that smells faintly of cologne.

Fuck that. Billy deserves to be treated properly.

It’s only when he kisses Billy’s cock that the tongue finally stops torturing him. It’s such a relief that Steve does it once more. Billy whimpers as Steve wraps his lips around the head, the noise high-pitched and vulnerable. At the end of the day, Steve realizes he did just come round to Billy’s house and freak out at his spank bank. Billy deserves something nice.

His hands clasp around Billy’s thighs, holding him still as he bobs his head up and down. Steve doesn’t do this very often, he’s not as practiced as Billy who seems to have limited to no gag reflex. Giving head doesn’t really turn Steve on, although Billy’s little shaky breathless noises are more than making up for that.  He takes it down until his jaw starts to hurt, then moves and uses his hand instead, kissing down around Billy’s balls. He thinks about going further, but he’s still a bit too squeamish to move his mouth down there. Billy, on the other hand, has no such scruples, and Steve moans against Billy’s thigh as the tongue comes back to his entrance because that feels so, so, fucking good.

“One day, Harrington…” Billy breathes against his ass.

“Don’t count on it.” Steve murmurs back lazily.

“One day I’ll fuck you…” and Steve isn’t sure whether it’s the words themselves, the dark and dirty tone, or the sudden curl and jerk of Billy’s hand around his cock that has him cumming for the second time, in a screaming heap on Billy Hargrove’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did look up gay skin magazines from the 80s on my work computer. Enjoy lockdown everyone!


	4. If you can't stand the heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: No actual sex in this one, sorry. Angst, self-loathing, issues, a couple of slurs, and a happy ending (just not that type of happy ending).

When he arrives at the quarry, all screeching tires and bravado, Billy is initially pleased he’s there first. It gives him time to prepare; to shake his muscles out, light up a cigarette, undo a few buttons on his shirt and artfully lounge against the side of the Camaro. For the first ten minutes it’s not so bad. After half an hour it gets cold so he does the buttons up again, scoots into the car, and drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

What to do now?

It’s not the first time Billy Hargrove has been stood up. Sometimes girls will come to their senses at the last minute and not show. It makes him angry, in a tight-chested way that has more to do with the yawning depth of abandonment than any real desire to sleep with them, but that’s part of the game. The hunt, the chase, the win. If you can’t stand the heat, then what the fuck are you even doing in the kitchen?

This is just the first time he’s been stood up by a man. More specifically, it’s the first time he’s been stood up by the only other person in the world who knows he keeps gay porn under his bed.

What to do, what to do…

The first and most obvious option, naturally, is to punch the steering wheel. Billy does it, and it makes him feel worse, so he does it again. Both fists rain down on the long-suffering car until his hands start to hurt. When he collapses back moodily into the seat matters have neither changed nor improved. 

Time for plan B.

There are a few options for plan B. One of them involves simply revving the car up and driving it right off the edge of the road into the deep embracing waters of the quarry. For the briefest of moments, Billy considers it. It would piss Neil off, that’s for sure, might even really hurt him. Maybe it would even make Max cry, although Billy doubts it. The moment passes quickly, because Billy Hargrove does not want to die. If anything he has the opposite problem, he wants to  _ live _ , and instead he’s stuck in the middle of fuck-off nowhere working as a part-time lifeguard.

“It was the magazines, wasn’t it?” Billy says to nobody in particular, "The spoilt little  _ shit _ can’t handle a bit of skin.”

If he closes his eyes, he can still see the shocked look on Steve’s face the last time they met, when he’d seen the magazines Billy kept fearfully hidden under the bed. He can still hear the horror in his voice,  _ I wasn’t expecting … this.  _ Maybe the whole time, as he’d been pretending to accept and share it, Steve had been secretly laughing at him. Maybe he’s telling the stupid rugrats he hangs around with right now, and they’re all secretly laughing at him, maybe he’s telling Max…

Reaching down, Billy yanks the key angrily and the Camaro roars into life. Plan B is decided. Plan B is driving down to Harrington’s house and making him  _ stop  _ laughing, either by punching his face in or bouncing on his dick, Billy hasn’t decided yet. His palms are sweaty as he wraps them around the steering wheel, wrenching the Camaro around in a wide turning circle.

“What the fuck  _ were _ you expecting?” He yells out of the open window.

It feels good going fast, to keep at the speed where he’s teetering on the edge of losing control. He can control it but if anything happened, a spooked deer or an invisible pothole, the car would veer wildly away from him. Just at the sweet-spot, and Billy roars the Camaro down the deserted road like a furious avenging angel. It’s Harrington’s fault, after all, for showing Billy where he lived. 

“Rookie error Harrington…” he snarls at the dashboard, licking his lips and glancing up to the mirror to see just how deranged he can make it look, “You pump it and dump it, you don’t take it home.”

He slows down a bit at the approach to Steve’s house. The road curves and there are too many trees; hobbling in from a wrecked car would kill the mood he’s going for. As he reaches the front he slows even more because it isn’t just Steve’s car parked outside, there are two others as well.

Pretty boy has company.

Heart in his mouth, Billy parks the car and slips out of it. It might be the kids but these cars are gleaming, expensive and new, not the sort of thing you use to carpool a group of unruly brats. It certainly doesn’t look like anything Joyce Byers can afford. The curtains haven’t been drawn yet, and the lights spilling out from the house show Billy everything he needs to see. Steve is inside, sitting at the table, and on the other two sides are his parents. A large crockpot steams between them, with various little vegetable side-plates displayed around it. Billy feels his lip twitch. Harrington is having a Family Meal With His Parents.

That is priceless.

He creeps closer. The house is surrounded by trees and shrubbery and random shit, so it’s not difficult to stay in the shadows. At the dining table, Harrington Senior is clearly holding forth about some topic he finds terribly interesting, or at least much more interesting than his audience of two. Mrs Harrington is barely eating, poking her vegetables with a fork, occasionally trying and failing to get a word in edgeways. In contrast, Steve seems to be eating as much and consistently as possible, possibly so that he doesn’t have to talk.

Billy frowns and edges closer. He can’t tell what they’re talking about, but he does notice that Harrington Senior is doing a lot of gesturing with his fork. Most of it towards Steve. Every time he does, the boy’s shoulders droop. 

It’s Steve. They’re talking about Steve. Billy has been at enough awkward family dinner-tables by now to tell. He can’t help but feel a little smug and not a little relieved. Here he was, all miserable at being stood up and it turns out it’s only because Steve Harrington is having the family dinner from hell. 

Billy moves back into the undergrowth, keeping his eyes fixed on the Harrington tableau and offering a mumbled impromptu translation as he goes, “Furthermore, Stevie-boy, I am particularly unimpressed with the degenerate punk you hang around with. I’m sure that useless little faggot’s been dragging you into all sorts of bad habits, encouraging your cock-sucking skills, wrecking that tight little asshole, dressing you up like a cheap truckstop hooker and renting you out to -  _ shit _ !”

The amateur dramatics are cut short by a low wall hidden in the undergrowth which sends Billy sprawling down with a crash into the bushes. His heart thuds painfully in his chest as he glances back at the room where all three of them are staring out of the window into the darkness of the garden, clearly spooked and just as clearly unable to see him. Billy’s fingers curl into the soil beneath him because there’s no real excuse he can think of for what on earth he’s doing in their garden. To his surprise it’s Steve who steps forward, putting a hand on his father’s arm and cautiously inching towards the door.

Billy has to stifle back a laugh as Steve heads out into the garden because really, this is too funny. It becomes distinctly less funny as Steve picks up a rake and starts jabbing at the shrubbery. With a quick glance at the house to check the parents are both back at their dinner, Billy waits until the rake is close enough then grabs it in one hand. 

Steve gives a choked cry, his eyes wide. Billy sniggers from the undergrowth, “You are such a coward Harrington.”

“What the - Billy?” Harrington peers closer, sounding more confused than angry, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You are meant to be at the quarry.” Billy points out, giving the rake a tug for emphasis. “Right now you should be stretched out over the backseat of my Camaro with your tongue up my ass. Why aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry … my parents… why would you come  _ here _ ?”

Billy smirks and snaps his teeth, “Because I know where you live, Harrington.”

“Oh my god. What if my dad had come out here?”

“Yeah, why didn’t he? Is it your job to take down the burglars around here?”

Steve hesitates, and Billy can’t help the feeling that there’s something here he isn’t being told. Something about the night where Max stabbed him in the neck, that night just wasn’t  _ right _ in a way he can’t adequately define. They’ve never talked about it, simply because of the excruciating awkwardness of having to address that Billy once beat Steve into unconsciousness and was then knocked out by his own step-sister.

“Just wanted to get out of there.” Steve mumbles in reply. Billy can get that. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t make it, I wasn't expecting them back. Really. Um … if you wait in the pool-house I might be able to…”

It’s tempting, of course it’s tempting, but Billy’s only just recovered from feeling like a trashy little part-time fuck and doesn’t feel like going back there. Spending the evening crouched in Steve Harrington’s pool-house on the off-chance he’ll get bent over a deflated lilo does not sound like a fun evening. “Nah, I need to get back. Just thought I’d check on you, you know, in case something happened. I was worried you’d got yourself in trouble.”

Steve looks deeply unconvinced. “You thought I’d got myself in trouble alone in my own house?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you, Harrington.” 

Steve glances over his shoulder. His parents are both sitting down eating again, and his father gives an irritated gesture through the window. “Yeah. I should - I should get back as well. Do you want to try the quarry again at the weekend?”

“I don’t know, Harrington. Do I?” Billy doesn’t mean it to come out as challenging as it does, but with Steve everything seems to be a challenge. Every time he thinks he’s managed to take a step forward, Steve takes one back. It’s a dumb stupid dance that they do. “Will you actually be there this time?”

“Saturday, 11am.” Steve turns away from his dad and gives Billy a big, soft, Bambi-eyed grin, “I promise you Billy, 11am on Saturday I’ll be stretched out over the back seat of your Camaro with my tongue up your ass. Okay?”

How on earth is Billy meant to say no to that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to never, ever write slurs in my work, it's something I feel distinctly uncomfortable about. When I do, I only ever write it as dialogue and only if it's unavoidable. In this case, I needed to get across just how much Billy's internal voice has internalized from Neil. So, yeah. Sorry guys.


	5. At the quarry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for Neil Hargrove, very detailed descriptions of rimming, bad bdsm etiquette, complete lack of kink negotiation (because these boys have no idea what kinks are and still don't quite realize they have them)

It’s easier to deal with Neil in the summer than it was during term-time. Both Max and Billy are able to keep out of his way, and with no school there’s nowhere either of them particularly have to be. Susan might complain that Max is growing up wild instead of like a proper young lady, but that’s clearly nothing to do with Billy. It also helps that Billy is now bringing money home, and if it stings to have to leave a quarter of his wage packet on the table each week it’s not such a bad price to pay for the end of lectures about responsibility, maturity, and how when  _ Neil _ was Billy’s age he was already working 8-hours a day to help support a family. 

Overall things are relatively peaceful, and maybe that’s why Billy gets complacent. Neil’s working the late shifts, which means on Saturday morning Billy is up, dressed and showered before Neil’s even awake. Maybe he did spend a bit longer in the shower than normal, because Harrington might have made some promises that Billy doesn’t want to give him any excuse to back out of. It’s possible that he used a fair amount of warm water getting everything clean and fresh. Billy still isn’t convinced that’s the  _ only _ reason there’s no hot water when Neil stumbles out of bed in a grumpy mess to take a morning shower.

Susan, bless her, seems to agree, “It did the same thing yesterday evening Neil, I think something might be wrong with the heating element. I’m sure Billy didn’t mean to-”

“I work  _ all night _ .” Neil snaps, his face about two inches from Billy’s which is pressed up against the back of the kitchen cabinets, “Proper work, not sunbathing by a pool all day chatting up little sluts in bikinis. The  _ least _ I deserve is a decent shower when I get up in the morning.”

“There was still hot water when I got out.” Billy mutters back.

“You spend hours in there every day,  _ Max _ spends less time primping herself up than you do.” Neil glares at him belligerently but Billy isn’t about to back down. Not yet. Neil’s eyes flicker over Billy’s clothes; the open shirt, smart jeans and leather jacket. “There some reason you’re all dressed up today?”

Billy feels his mouth go dry, “I’m going out.”

With a small noise of disappointment Neil shakes his head, his eyes fixed on Billy. “I don’t think that’s true, son. I think you’re going to stay in today and handle the yard work, while I see if there’s anything wrong with the water tank.”

Billy can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He needs to go out, he’s got a date at the quarry, and after the grief he gave Harrington for standing him up he can hardly turn around and do the same. “Sure. Of course. I’ll be - I’ll be back by lunchtime to get the yard work done.”

Neil’s eyes narrow, “Is that what I said, hmm? Is that what I said was going to happen?”

They stare at each other while Susan wrings her hands nervously in the background. It’s Billy who looks away first. “No, Sir.”

“Go up stairs and get changed. You can’t work dressed like that.”

There’s no work that really needs doing in the yard, but Billy digs earth and hauls logs around until he’s out of breath. Neil finds a hacksaw in the basement and Billy randomly attacks a few trees with it until it bends out of shape. Irritated, he flings it to the ground, looking back at the house. Susan is at the kitchen table chopping some vegetables for dinner, his dad is presumably arguing with the hot water tank in the basement.

The Camaro is parked by the house,  _ right there _ . 

There are many reasons, Billy knows, why it would be a bad idea. For a start, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of beat-up overalls and covered in dirt. Harrington will probably just laugh at him and refuse to even touch him. Secondly, he has no firm proof that Harrington is even there, he might be in similar trouble with his folks and need to stay at home. And thirdly, of course, there’s Neil, who will be beyond angry if Billy skips out on a punishment.

His feet are already inching back towards the house. His keys are in his jacket pocket, his jacket is on the table, he can be in and out in a second. Susan will see, but it’ll be obvious he’s gone the minute the Camaro roars off. He’s not trying to do this secretly. 

Sure enough, Susan looks up as soon as Billy enters the house. He gives her his second most charming smile and grabs his jacket. “Getting chilly out there!”

She gives a nervous smile back, politely ignoring the fact that the sun is blazing down and Billy is dripping sweat, “I’m sure the hot water will be fixed for tomorrow.”

“I know it will, Susan. I trust dad to sort it out.”

She looks so heartbreakingly relieved that he almost feels guilty for what he’s about to do. Swinging the jacket over his shoulder he leaves, starting to laugh as soon as he’s out of the house. The laugh is giddy, ridiculous, and kicks his body into moving, hurling himself into the car and tearing off before he can change his mind. He rolls down both windows, rests his arm out of one, and gives a triumphant howl at the sky.

Oh he is going to pay for this one.

Harrington’s car is already at the quarry, and Billy feels his heart leap. It’s a strange and embarrassing feeling - since when did some dumb prep in a polo shirt gain the power to affect him like this? As expected, Harrington’s face twists as Billy climbs out of the car, his eyebrow raising in surprise. “Wow. That’s … that’s a look.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got caught up with yard work.”

“Yard work?” Steve is definitely smirking now, “I didn’t realize you had a yard. Was it that patch of scrubby trees near the house?”

“Laugh it up Harrington.” Billy growls, his mood not improving as he pats at his pockets and remembers his cigarettes are back home in the pocket of his jeans. “You’re the one gonna be eating me out.”

“You have got to be joking.” And now Steve is laughing, but it doesn’t sound malicious and Billy finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. Not when Steve is standing in front of him, eyes light and teasing, mouth soft and kissable, “Did you get like this on purpose?”

“Course I did sweetheart, like it?”

“Oh god. I bet you haven’t even showered.” Steve makes a face and then gives a ridiculous high pitched squeal as Billy snaps teeth at his collarbone. “You’re gonna make me do it aren’t you?”

That’s an interesting sentence, and Billy pauses to consider it, his hands half rucking up Steve’s poloshirt, “Do you … do you want me to make you?” 

Steve’s tongue darts out to lick his lips uncertainly, “I - no. I mean, I didn’t mean-”

They stare at each other while Billy listens to the very loud sound of his heartbeat. It’s Steve who speaks first. “I want to do it.”

Billy feels his heart do the strange flipping thing again. “You don’t have to, not if you-”

“No, I want to.”

“I did shower.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes looking a little haunted. “Good…”

They’re still up against the Camaro, so Billy reaches back and undoes the backdoor, holding it open politely. Steve bends down to go inside, then hesitates. “Is this actually going to work?”

“You never had sex in a car before?”

“Not like  _ this _ . How are you gonna get in?”

The overalls have a second drawback, Billy suddenly realizes, other than making him look like particularly well-groomed trailer trash. There’s no way he can get his ass out without going completely naked. Then he’ll have to somehow get said ass into the vicinity of Steve’s mouth while they’re both pushed inside a small car. 

Giving an irritated growl, he tugs fretfully at the back of Steve’s polo shirt. “Fine, I’ll go in first, you stay out here.”

Steve looks like he’s about to say something. Reaching up, Billy unclips the overalls and lets them fall and anything Steve might have been about to say clearly vanishes right out of his head. Bending forward, Billy crawls his way into the car, stopping on hands and knees and wriggling his ass. “Get to it, Harrington.”

He hears Steve take a breath behind him, then two hands press against his ass, spreading it open. For a moment, Billy thinks he wouldn’t even mind if Steve bottled it and just went straight to fucking him. It’s a big ask, after all, especially given the state he turned up in. Then he feels warm air against his ass, and the soft kiss of Steve’s lips against the inside curve of it.

He wants this, he  _ so _ wants this, and Billy doesn’t care how much trouble he’s landed himself in to get it.

At first, Steve seems happy just to kiss around the area, lips and tongue teasing and tickling. Maybe he’s just getting used to the idea, working out for himself how far he wants to go with it. Then his tongue gently prods at the exposed rim of Billy’s ass, and Billy gives a groan, his fingers digging into the upholstery. Whenever he’s fantasized about this it’s been a rough and messy session, all wet and eager and wild. This is completely different, the soft teasing hesitancy almost unbearable. Steve’s tongue withdraws and he goes back to kissing and Billy almost cries, but then it’s there again, more certain this time, poking, rubbing and teasing gently. All the while Steve’s hand is on his ass and when Billy tries to push back for more it digs in tight.

Billy braces himself on one elbow and reaches back to grab his cock. This is actually going to kill him. He hears Steve huff a laugh against his skin. “Feel good, huh?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Don’t expect this every day, Hargrove.”

Billy squeezes hard at his cock, “N-no. No Sir.”

It slips out before he’s realized it, and Billy bites his lip feeling suddenly very stupid. But Steve doesn’t say anything, and the next second the tongue is back at his entrance, licking this time in slow, sure strokes. Right then and there Billy decides he would happily use up all the hot water in Hawkins if it gets him this kind of treatment. 

Steve keeps it up until Billy is flushed and whining, then steps back, wiping his lips. “Damn you look good down there, Hargrove.”

“Unh … don’t stop … please …”

“What was that?”

“Pleeease…”

The fingers dig in tight to his ass again and Billy’s heart isn’t so much flipping now as pounding, “I’m gonna fuck you now, Hargrove.”

“Do that again…please…”

Steve hesitates, maybe trying to work out what exactly Billy needs him to do again. His fingers dig hard into the skin of Billy’s ass, and Billy gives an encouraging moan, “Yeah…”

“That?”

“Yeah.”

There’s the sound of a condom ripping from behind him. This time, Steve has apparently decided to forgo his usual insistence on implying Billy’s a whore before using it. They also both seem to have decided to ignore Billy’s slip-up with the  _ Sir _ for which he’s intensely grateful. He doesn’t want to think about that, and rather hopes Steve doesn’t either. He feels the head of Steve’s cock pressing against him and hisses, bracing himself against the car.

“Make that noise again, the desperate one.” Steve says from behind him, and Billy can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Brat.”

“Not that one.” Steve’s cock taps against his wet sensitive entrance and Billy whines, “You know what I mean Hargrove.”

Billy closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling. His hand on his cock, the smell of the Camaro, the hum of the outside world in summer. And Steve Harrington, big and smug and  _ stupidly _ well hung. “Make me.” He mutters.

There’s the complicated silence of Steve thinking, and then Steve’s head is close, his voice right by Billy’s ear. “Say please, Hargrove, and I’ll shove it in you so hard and fast you’ll feel it all week.”

“Fuck…” Steve’s hand digs into his ass again and Billy gives a wild cry, “Please! Fuck you Harrington, please….”

It’s everything that was promised, except worse because it doesn’t seem to have occurred to sheltered little Steve Harrington that a rim job does not constitute lube. Billy cries out, one foot drumming against the car, hands tightened into the upholstery, while Steve gasps from behind him. Steve moves forward, Billy flinches and twitches away, Steve moves back and Billy surges after him, and there’s quite a bit of pain and swearing between the two of them before they get into something of a rhythm. And  _ then _ the hot eager feeling starts to trickle back through him, made even better for the aching throb of his ass. The feeling like he’s just won a fight, only  _ better _ because he’s with someone who wants to make him feel good, and is in the process of making him feel amazing, and for a few spectacular moments he had Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, tonguing at his asshole.

Steve cums first. Billy fists at his cock until he follows soon after, then collapses bonelessly into the car. Steve leans against the outside of it, gazing down at him with a stupid look on his face. “You okay?”

Billy flips up his middle finger, and Steve huffs a laugh and picks up the discarded overalls. Shakily, Billy just about manages to stagger himself out of the car, leaning against it and pulling them on. His mood always drops after sex, particularly after intense sex that grazes round the edges of pain, but this one is particularly bad. The fun part is over, and now he has to go home and face the music.

A pair of warm arms wrap around him and, to his surprise, Steve pulls him close for a hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” Billy demands aggressively, although the aggressiveness is slightly muffled given his face is burrowing into Steve’s shirt. “I know, maybe because some shitbrained asshole shoved his stupid oversized cock up me without eating me out enough to get me wet.”

Steve doesn’t reply, but his hand reaches up to run gently through Billy’s hair. That makes Billy give a shaky laugh, pulling away and wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “Jesus Harrington, don’t get soppy on me. I’m not Nancy Wheeler okay?”

“You are … about as unlike Nancy Wheeler as it’s possible to get.” Steve gives an awkward shrug, glancing determinedly into the middle distance so he can pretend not to notice as Billy scrubs at his eyes. “Anyway, I did it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah Harrington, you did it.”

Steve looks pretty pleased with himself. His feet drag against the dry gravel and Billy gets the feeling that Steve wants to head home about as much as Billy does, which is not at all. Without thinking, Billy says impulsively, “Hey, you wanna grab lunch at the diner?”

To Steve’s credit, he does try to hide some of the expression on his face as his eyes glance over Billy’s overalls, “Uh, do you have a shirt or something?”

“I’ve got my jacket…” but the moment is already passing. Sitting on a hard diner chair with a sore ass trying to think of something to say to Steve Harrington is sounding less and less appealing. They have a good thing going here, and it’s turning into a better thing than Billy had ever dared hope. Probably best not to push it. Besides, if he goes back now he can claim he thought the yard work was finished and went for a quick drive. It won’t get him out of trouble, but at least it’ll mean he doesn’t have to think up a proper excuse. “Ha. Yeah. Probably not.”

“No wait, we should! I didn’t mean that-” Steve stutters, and Billy swoops him into a kiss to put him out of his misery. Watching those big doe-eyes try to lie their way out of trouble is just too painful. 

“Some other time maybe.” He murmurs as they separate. “I got to get back to my yard work.”

“Right.” Steve looks skeptical. “Yard work.”

Billy drops himself back into the front of the Camaro with barely a wince, glancing up at the mirror to check he doesn’t look too bad. In it, he can see Steve’s droopy disappointed face. Reversing the car up to it he leans out the window with a smirk, “You want to take me out, Harrington? Take me out properly. Tuesday evening after your shift, meet me at Enzo’s. Dress like you’ve got a business meeting.”

It’s almost worth it for the smile that lights Steve’s face, even if his eyebrows do vanish up into his hairline, “Enzo’s?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, I mean I’ll take it!” Steve gives a strange giddy sort of laugh, his hand pressing briefly into Billy’s arm. “Okay, see you then. Good luck with your yard work.”

“Yeah…” Billy mutters. The Camaro jumps forward and Billy gives a casual wave out the window as the quarry recedes behind him. He needs the promise of this date, he knows, to get him through what’s about to happen. His ass is stinging, and even that can’t take the edge off the thought of Neil, back home waiting for him.

Out for a drive, that's all he has to say, he was out for a drive.

Maybe he should have a bit of a drive first, just so it sounds realistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you guys to appreciate the insane amount of research into American Water Heating Systems I did for this chapter.


	6. Put On Your Own Life Vest Before Assisting Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: for terrible\abusive parenting. Given we only ever see Billy get a slap in canon I've been skirting around how bad Neil's behavior actually goes. Then simonon was kind enough to share me some extracts from Runaway Max and ... now you got this. Enjoy!

By now, Steve thinks, he should know better. He’s a man of the world after all, he’s had girlfriends before, he’s learnt the rules. Never screw a girl when she’s drunk, never stick your dick in crazy, and never, ever, make promises directly after having an orgasm.

With Billy Hargrove, those rules are going out of the window.

It had seemed like a fantastic idea, in the hazy sweet summer air by the quarry, to go out on a date together. Whatever they have has moved beyond a regular quick fuck in the back of a mall and on to something that apparently involves meeting in fancy clothes at Enzos. Which is where Steve is struggling slightly.

It probably worked well enough for Billy in California (and Steve is under no impression that he is Billy’s first). California is big, expansive, with multiple fancy restaurants and the anonymity of size. Two stupid teenagers turning up in suits, claiming to be in a work meeting, and giggling over a soda all evening could probably get away with it. But Hawkins is a small town, with only one fancy restaurant, which Steve has been to multiple times with his parents. If a waiter, or even worse someone who knows his family, sees him and Billy on their not-date, word will spread. It’s not that Billy is his dirty little secret, it’s more that both of them together need to keep this thing hidden. The repercussions won’t be great for either of them.

Never make a promise directly after shooting a load! Steve can almost hear Tommy yelling it at him.

He doesn’t want to stand Billy up again, or risk him doing something dumb like buying a new suit, so on Sunday he convinces the kids to go to the pool. Despite the hot weather it’s a ridiculously hard sell, Will Byers doesn’t want anyone looking at him in trunks, Lucas doesn’t like swimming, Max doesn’t want to be anywhere her brother is. Dustin groans, and sighs, and grouses, “Why can’t we just use your pool, Steve?”

“It’s being cleaned.” Steve lies, “Get your trunks and stop complaining.”

They seem to perk up a bit as they arrive at the pool. Even the most nerdy and introverted of kids can’t resist the lure of splashing water and laughter. Steve sets up the towels and sun-loungers, wondering when he turned into quite so much of a mother hen, glancing up at the lifeguard tower where Heather is currently sat on duty.

He clearly isn’t the only one doing it. By the side of the pool he can see a group of women, Mike’s mom among them, all taking sideways looks at the tower. It makes him feel a strange sort of uncomfortable squirmy feeling inside. These women are old enough to be Billy’s mother, and yet here they are talking about him like a piece of prime steak. Steve tugs off his shirt, puts on his sunglasses, and leans back on the lounger, eyes fixed on the door.

Sure enough, Billy emerges. Cigarette in his mouth, lifeguard vest and shorts hanging easily off his tanned body. He gives a nod to his gaggle of middle-aged groupies and then his eyes grow wide as he sees Steve.

Steve gives a ‘ _ what can you do?’ _ shrug and gestures towards the kids. Unfortunately Will Byers chooses that exact moment to open his big mouth with a, “How long do we have to stay here, Steve, I’m gonna burn?”

Smooth.

Billy’s eyes narrow and he gives Steve a glare before stalking off to the tower, climbing up stiffly and lowering himself down with care. True, this is the first time Steve has ever unexpectedly turned up at Billy’s workplace, but after the number of times Billy has barged into Scoops Ahoy! expecting to be immediately taken care of, Steve doesn’t think it’s unreasonable. After all, he’s happy to wait until Billy’s off duty. 

In a way he finds it fascinating to watch Billy working, with his gaze hidden behind the blank slate of the sunglasses. The combination of Billy Hargrove and minor power seems to have created a monster. The whistle is blown repeatedly and loudly, and seems to spend a lot of the rest of the time attached to Billy’s lips. When Billy shouts, which he does fairly often, he sounds genuinely angry, his hands curled into fists on the sides of his chair as he shifts uncomfortably at the top of his tower.

When the shift changes, Steve throws ice-cream money at the kids, warns them not to drown, sticks a large floppy hat on Will Byers and then scoots through the doors to the changing room. Back here it’s cooler, yet somehow faintly sinister. The drip of water and the disinfectant smell make him shiver. When Billy strides inside, kicking at the door like it’s offended him, Steve stays quiet. He expects Billy to turn and see him, but instead Billy is ignoring everything, scowling at the world as he slams the door of the shower cubicle. A few seconds later the vest and shorts are flipped over the top of the door, the shower turns on, and Billy gives a groan.

Steve feels his lip twitch. Carefully he tiptoes forward and, when he’s close enough, grabs at the vest and shorts and tugs them off the shower door. There’s an enraged noise from inside, and Steve just about has time for a nervous giggle before a wet and angry Billy Hargrove slams open the door, grabs him by the arm and yanks him into the shower cubicle.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing here?”

“I - shit Hargrove calm down - I needed to talk.”

Billy sneers in his face, his hair hanging around him in wet tendrils, “You needed to talk? Get a chick for that Harrington.”

Something has changed. Between that wonderful sunny Saturday by the quarry, and here and now in a faintly moldy shower cubicle, something about Billy has broken. Steve can’t work out what it is. “Look it’s about Enzos…”

“You really think we’re going to fucking Enzos?” 

He can tell that Billy is trying to hurt him, but all Steve feels is relief, “That’s what I came to say! We can’t go. The waiters … almost all of them know my dad. There’s no way we can pretend to be on a business trip.”

Billy’s jaw clenches. The hand tightens against Steve’s shoulder and shoves him up against the wall of the cubicle. Despite his words Billy does look genuinely upset at the cancelled date, or maybe he’s just generally upset at the world. Steve can feel the cold metal of the cubical against his back, the close heat of Billy’s nakedness in front of him, and suddenly feels very tired of the whole thing. It seems to be a lot of effort keeping Billy from self-destructing, and all he’s getting out of it is the occasional high-stakes fuck.

The water splashes down around them. Gently, Steve reaches up and presses his palms against Billy’s chest. “Okay man, so … I’ll see you around, yeah?”

For a moment, he thinks Billy is going to hit him. Instead Billy abruptly turns away and steps under the full spray of the shower. His back is red, with lines from where he’s been resting against the lifeguard chair. 

Except … he wasn’t resting against the chair. 

He spent the whole morning sitting forward glaring out over the swimming pool. 

Steve knows, because Steve was watching.

Slowly, Steve reaches out with one hand. When he touches Billy’s skin, Billy flinches but doesn’t move away. There are six or seven of the lines, thin red weals about two inches apart. They’re mostly on the top of Billy’s back, but a few have sneaked down to snap over his lower back and ass.

He remembers Billy on his hands and knees in the car at the quarry. There hadn’t been any lines then.

“Billy …” at the sound of his voice Billy jumps, twisting away suddenly with a snarl on his face.

“Fuck off Harrington.”

“What the hell happened, man?”

“I said  _ fuck off _ !” and this time Billy does take a swing at him, which turns into a shove at the last moment. A confined damp shower cubicle is no place to be shoving anyone, and Steve goes down with a muffled curse, colliding with Billy’s legs which sends Billy down as well. They land in a painful heap on the damp tiles, Billy still angrily hissing at him.

“I swear to god Harrington, do you not know what ‘fuck off’ means?” 

Apparently he doesn’t. Steve pushes himself into a sitting position and watches as Billy manages to roll into a half crouch. The welts on his back look even worse now they’ve been bounced off the tiled floor. “Who was it?” Steve asks insistently.

“You jealous it wasn’t you?”

Steve remembers the sound Billy made when he went in dry, back at the quarry. The way his cries turned from pain to pleasure. The desperate curl of his hips and the hard throb of his cock as Steve dug nails into the soft skin of his ass. “What, you get guys to beat you for fun?”

Billy’s face twists into something very ugly. “What if I do?”

“I can believe that.” Steve says softly, watching Billy’s eyes turn red. “But I can’t believe you did it yesterday, after we met at the quarry.”

“It doesn’t matter what you  _ believe _ Harrington.” Billy croaks back. Either Billy is going to start crying, or Billy is going to murder him. Maybe both. Steve tries to think of an idea, any idea, but can only think of one and it isn’t very good.

What the hell. “We don’t have to go to Enzos…” he tries recklessly, “But we could still go out. We could go to a motel.”

This isn’t what he needs, this isn’t what their relationship needs, and he’s pretty damn sure it isn’t what Billy needs. But it does, miraculously, make Billy’s eyes momentarily lose the biting pain they’ve been carrying all day. “Are you kidding me, Harrington?”

“No! You can pick me up in the Camaro. Beer and condoms in the boot. We’ll go to a motel, and we can do, hell, whatever you want.”

Billy gives him a deep, searching look, “What if I want to fuck you.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed. But I’ll eat you out again.”

This is, Steve’s aware, not the healthiest way to comfort your boyfriend after he got a whipping. But going out with Billy seems to be a succession of broken rules and bad ideas. This might go wonderfully, or it might end up turning him into a newspaper headline: Local Teen Found Dead In Skeezy Motel.

Billy leans his head back against the cubicle wall and closes his eyes. Impulsively, Steve leans forward to kiss him. Billy gives a strangled yelp and bats him away, so Steve ducks his head and kisses Billy’s chest instead. It tastes of water and sweat, with a faint tang of sunscreen. He kisses lower, then dips his tongue into Billy’s bellybutton just because he wants to hear him laugh.

Sure enough, Billy gives a snort and grabs him by his hair, pulling him up. “You already know not to tell anyone about this shit, don’t you Harrington.”

“Yes Sir.” Steve murmurs back, because he hasn’t forgotten about what Billy said at the quarry. 

The hand tightens hard in his hair and gives it a shake, “And don’t fucking do that.”

“Yes Billy.”

“You can keep doing that though, especially with your eyes like that. And you can give me a fucking blowjob.”

Steve dips his head lower, kissing the tip of Billy’s cock which, sure enough, is showing interest in the proceedings. “Anything else you want, Billy?”

“Well I would want a fuck.” Billy’s legs relax and spread out, the hand no longer clenching Steve’s hair quite so tight but resting lightly against his head. “But some dumb preppy twink ripped my ass in half yesterday, so I guess I’m going to have to pass.”

Steve can’t answer, because he’s got a cock in his mouth, but he makes encouraging noises. This is good, he figures, because Billy is calm and not hitting anyone. He still doesn’t know where the marks on Billy’s back came from, but he has a few ideas. None of them are particularly pleasant. Maybe one day, Billy will feel safe enough to tell him, or maybe a secret dirty fuck in a motel room is all they’re good for.

“Was it because of the quarry?” he mumbles around Billy’s cock.

Billy gives another laugh, this one has lost the mean desperate edge and sounds almost relaxed. “Course it wasn’t. You ain’t that important, Princess.”

By now, Steve thinks, he’s starting to be able to tell when Billy is lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going mad from isolation and my inability to homeschool and have no idea how good this is anymore.


	7. Hotel, Motel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: first half is all talk and no trousers. Second half is all trousers and not enough talking ;)  
> Spanking, sex, blowjobs, underage drinking, sleazy motel

Steve isn’t sure if the whole ‘dress smart’ thing still applies given they’re going to a sleazy motel. Even so, he digs out the suit he wore that time his dad took him to a fancy work experience day. It seems another lifetime ago, back before his college rejection letter came through and confirmed that he was more suited for the role of dead-end college dropout than frat boy. He styles his hair carefully, puts on his neatest shoes, and stares at himself in the mirror. 

“We need to talk, Billy…” he murmurs at his reflection and then rolls his eyes. But fuck it, why not do this properly. 

He slips a hand inside his pocket, gives a pout at the mirror, and turns on the big baby eyes he once turned on Nancy in a concerted attempt to get her in the sack, “Hey Billy, it’s great to see you - looking smart by the way. Listen man, I really think we need to talk about this, not just jump straight in. Talk about what we’re doing, and what we are, and -”

A door bangs somewhere in the house and Steve gives a guilty jump. Time to stop being dumb and get out there. He hears the Camaro before he sees it, the roaring engine and squeal of brakes as he exits the house with a yell of, “I’m going out to a party!” Billy is waiting impatiently, with a grey suit-jacket thrown on over his usual white vest and jeans. He shoves a rumpled-looking bouquet at Steve as he gets into the car. 

Steve stares at it in deep confusion. “What the hell is this?” 

Billy gives him a quick glance, and then a longer one as his eyes follow the line of Steve’s suit. “It’s cover, shitbrain, I’m meant to be on a fancy date.” 

“Are you?” 

“That’s what I told dad and Susan.” Billy’s face twists into a smirk, “Aww, Harrington, did you think they were for you?”

Steve takes a deep breath as the car starts off, trying to remember what it was he needed to say, “Listen, Billy … we should probably … wait, are these from the gas station?”

“Plenty of chicks in Hawkins would be more than happy for gas-station flowers.” Billy gives a grin, “How long can you stay out?”

Steve gives a shrug, “They won’t wait up.”

“Cool, yeah, they won’t expect me back any time soon.” Billy seems strangely jittery, his hands drumming against the steering wheel, “Guess we can stay out all night then.”

“Have you done this before?” Steve asks curiously, because he does genuinely want to know, “Driven a guy out to a motel?”

Billy doesn’t answer, but his hands tighten on the steering-wheel.

It’s turning dark by the time they get to the motel, and the flickering fluorescent strip outside adds nothing to the atmosphere. Steve feels insanely out of place in his suit, tugging at it self-consciously as Billy strides up the desk and gives the bored looking lady behind it a winning smile, “Hey… look, my, uh, business associate and I just realized we aren’t going to make our flight home. Any chance we could grab a room for the night?”

She gives him a supremely unimpressed look and Steve can’t hide a grin, “Double or twin.”

“Hey, no need for that.” Billy actually manages to look offended. “One twin room, thank you very much.”

She hands the keys across and Billy snatches at them. It all seems to move frighteningly fast until Steve is standing in his best suit in a grubby motel room opposite Billy Hargrove. He watches numbly as Billy brings up two large plastic bags containing multiple cans of beer. 

“Beer,” Billy dumps the bags on one of the beds, “Also a fuckton of condoms, pretty boy,  _ and _ I showered.”

“Well…” Steve croaks. “What now?”

Billy throws him a beer. Good enough.

They start sitting side by side on the bed, drinking in silence. It’s Steve who makes the first move, letting himself lean into Billy as he grabs another tin. It prompts Billy to unwind enough to wrap an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and the beer drinking feels a lot more comfortable after that.

“What would you want…” Billy asks when they hit the third beer, with a sideways look at Steve. “If you could have anything, what would you want?”

There are plenty of answers to that question, “A job where I can sit in an office bossing people around all day? A suit that fits better? Uh, a full-size home cinema?”

There’s a brief pause and then Billy says in a strangled voice. “Sex things, Harrington. You don’t come to a dirty model to confess your hopes and dreams. If you could do anything to me, right here and now, what would you do?”

Oh. Steve flushes awkwardly. “I dunno man … probably fuck you.”

“Jesus Harrington, have some imagination.”

“Okay…” Steve considers it. He’s never had to use his imagination much with girls. Mostly his dad’s money and good hair carried him through, until suddenly they didn’t. He lets his head drop back against Billy’s arm and thinks about what they’ve done so far. “I liked pushing that ice-cream scoop into you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Quite liked you lying in the dirt in my garden.” Steve bites his lip, but the alcohol is already dissolving his usual inhibitions. “Liked you in overalls. I kinda liked it when you called me ‘Sir’.”

He feels Billy twitch behind him, but it doesn’t feel like anger. It’s probably embarrassment at being caught out in a slip. “So how about you, Hargrove? What turns you on?”

Billy takes a big swig of beer and gives a rough sort of laugh, “I like it when you’re mean, Harrington. Like it when you rip into me, love it when you slap me.”

It always has to be a fight with Billy. Steve stares at the label on his beer, and carefully doesn’t meet his eyes, “You like it when I hug you.”

He can  _ feel _ the thrumming tension in Billy’s body, “Fuck you, Harrington.”

“You like it when I hold you.” Steve continues, wondering if they’ll ever find his body. “You like it when I stroke your hair. You like feeling… safe.”

Billy’s hand closes around his wrist. It’s not too tight, not yet, but it definitely carries a threat within it. Steve falls silent, giving time for Billy to deal and respond. What was it Jonathan had said once, while Will was in the midst of a frantic panic attack? Hold the space. Steve holds the space, holds his beer, and holds Billy’s hand, until he hears a long shaky breath from above him. 

“You’re dead, Harrington.” Billy breathes, his voice choking. 

“Yeah.” Steve whispers back, but he’s crossed the line now. There’s nothing he can say that’ll make him any deader. “When I saw you on Sunday - was that, was it your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Belt?”

“Yeah.”

Billy’s hand around his wrist tightens, but it also twists and the fingers slide up to twine around Steve’s, grip strong. It feels like Billy is handing him something precious, and Steve holds onto it tight, “Does he do that a lot?”

“Not so much with the belt.” Billy scowls and shifts, the moment fading a little, “Stop talking about my dad, dipshit.”

Their hands separate, and Steve takes a tactical swig of beer to let Billy wipe his eyes. He settles back into Billy’s chest when he’s done, letting the strong arms wrap around him, the smell of Billy so familiar and so close. He realizes, in a surprised and hazy sort of way, that he doesn’t want to stop this. Not just for the sex either. This is something he wants to keep.

“Do you think,” Billy says in a low voice by his ear. “That we could just get in the car and keep driving? Drive right down the interstate, right out of Indiana, keep driving till we hit the sea.”

“We could.” Steve murmurs back, “But it would be goddam stupid.”

Billy gives a snort of laughter. “Yeah. You’d be a bitch, I’d start drinking, and neither of us would find a job at anything. Halfway to California you’d phone your daddy and beg to be allowed home.”

“You’d start sucking off truckers for gas money.” Steve answers lazily, starting to grin. “I’d get jealous, start fights and lose ‘em. Hopper would come after us and whale on us both.”

There’s a groan from Billy that sounds suspiciously like a moan, “Oh yeah, he would…”

“Stop imagining Hopper, man.”

“I mean he looks strong.” Billy’s hard cock is pressing up against Steve’s thigh and Steve is very tempted to pour a beer over his head, “He’s got a gut but damn, if he hit you … you’d fucking feel it.”

“I’m serious!” It makes Steve feel a little sick, “Stop it man.”

Billy laughs even more at that, reaching down to grab at Steve’s jacket, hauling them both up and twisting around on the bed until Steve is dumped in his lap, between his legs. “You’re such a prude.”

“He’s old enough to be your - he’s really old!”

Billy gives a lazy blink, hand reaching up to stroke Steve’s hair. “So get down there and show me what I  _ should _ be imagining, Stevie-boy.”

* * *

Spanking Billy Hargrove should not feel this good. Maybe it’s because the marks on Billy’s back have now faded, or because they’re already a fuck and a rim-job away from the conversation about Billy’s father. Unfortunately skin, as it turns out, is deceptively hard and after a few moments Steve feels like his hand is going numb..

“God damn it Harrington, I thought you were meant to be strong.” Billy huffs, propping his head lazily onto his arms, “Can barely feel that.”

Slowly, Steve reaches down to where his trousers have been abandoned on the floor and pulls out the belt. It feels hard and ridiculous in Steve’s hands. He has no idea what to do with it. Experimentally, he doubles it over and waves it through the air. Billy gives out a snort of laughter.

“How do you manage to make that look so cute, Harrington?”

“I’m not  _ cute _ …”

“You are doing that.”

Steve swings the belt down inexpertly. It flips against Billy’s ass and leaves a little fading red mark. Billy moans encouragingly, “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be afraid of it, Harrington.” 

He is afraid. This is mad new territory, and they  _ still _ haven’t had that talk. It seems incredibly likely that one or both of them will end up hurt by this. But Billy is stretched out and naked with his hips propped up on a pillow, his ass slick with lube, asshole loose and fucked. Fear is being very easily pushed to the side by deep hungry lust.

“C’mon Steve. Make it sting.”

Steve does so, or at least he flails away with the belt for a bit longer, until Billy screams out a “shit!”, grabs him by the wrist, and yanks him down onto the bed. Steve looks up, eyes lidded and face flushed, hands now pinned above his head, “Felt that, did you?”

“You hit my  _ asshole _ you little shit.”

“Yeah, it was there.”

Billy dives down between Steve’s legs and tongues at his ass for what feels like hours until Steve is a weeping crying mess, begging to cum. He’s not allowed to unless it’s in Billy’s asshole, and maybe he fucks just a little harder this time, slamming his hips into the fading pink lines on Billy’s skin. “Next time I get you in my house Hargrove…”

“What?” Billy gasps eagerly.

“Table-tennis bat…” Steve garbles out, his imagination running faster than his voice. “Ice cubes. Maybe - ah - kitchen. Kitchen thing. Spatula.”

Billy cums for the second time with a hard cry and Steve keeps his hips pumping until Billy is sniffling then lets himself cum. They curl up afterwards, Billy’s head on Steve’s chest while Steve strokes his hair and feels ridiculously, unaccountably happy.

They doze off at some point, and Steve wakes confused and hard to Billy Hargrove’s tongue flicking over his nipples. There’s sunlight casting shadows through the cheap curtains and making the room look even more sleazy in daylight. The floor is covered in empty beer tins, ripped condom packets, and scattered items of clothing.

“Billy?” He mumbles sleepily.

“Can I suck you off Steve?”

They really need to have that talk, but this probably isn’t the best time or place. Steve feels strung out and boneless in the best possible way. His body feels the way the room smells - like stale beer and sex. He doesn’t want to venture out beyond the curtains where the world is overly bright and terrifyingly unfriendly.

“Yeah.”

Billy’s head dips down, and Steve closes his eyes and lets the pleasure rush through him. It feels like they’ve had something special this evening, some little part of the world where only they exist. 

“Can I fuck you Steve?”

He almost agrees without thinking, then frowns, flickering his eyes open to glare between his legs to where Billy is grinning back at him. “Please?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

Billy rests his head on Steve’s stomach and moves his hand down instead, lazily jerking Steve up into wakefulness until he spills over with a groan of pleasure. A slightly pained groan, because while he might be plenty active, Steve is not actually immortal, and he’s pretty much drained his balls over the course of the night. 

When he’s finished, Billy lands a sticky kiss on Steve’s stomach and heads into the grubby little bathroom. Steve’s about to ask if he wants to return the favor, but then he feels a sticky wet patch under his leg. It feels like Billy already got off this morning, and Steve decides he does not want to know how or when. He listens to the water running in the sink, gently piecing together the non-sexual moments of the evening to work out where they are.

“Are you gonna be okay going home like this?” He asks, raising his voice and pushing himself upright. There’s cum in his hair, he’s going to have to climb in through the back window so nobody sees him. “With your dad and all?”

Billy appears at the bathroom door. Steve’s expecting anger, but instead, thankfully, it’s just a quiet sort of wariness. “Look Harrington, I don’t want this changing anything, okay?”

“Changing …?”

“I don’t want you tiptoeing around me, alright? Acting like I’m made of glass, walking me home, terrified of my dad. I can handle it.”

_ You can’t handle it _ , Steve wants to say,  _ You can’t and you’re not. You think it makes you stronger being like this, but it only makes you weaker _ . He can’t shoot Billy down like that though, so instead he just shrugs, “Okay, man.”

“You working at Scoops today?”

“Afternoon shift, I took this morning off.”

Billy gives a smug grin and disappears into the bathroom again, “Good. You’ll need it. I’ll come round sometime by the cinema, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiles, hauling himself off the bed and hunting around for his trousers. He feels a stab of guilt as he picks up his belt. “I’ll let you know when my parents are next away.”

“Hell yeah.” Billy emerges again, looking damp and fresh and smelling of cologne, pushing in his earring. “Get dressed, I’ll drive you back. And you’re keeping the flowers.”

“What?”

“You think I’m taking them home with me? Nobody rolls in at … uh … 9 am from a date still holding the flowers they left with.”

Steve grins, “So they were for me, huh?”

“They were cover, Princess, don’t be a fucking idiot all your life. Now get your ass in gear before you miss your shift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys made my day yesterday with the comments, thank you so much! Have some more smut :D


	8. Cameraman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interruption to your scheduled Drama for a dumb one-shot involving Billy and Jonathan.
> 
> Billy decides he needs some sexy photos.

“Hey, Byers!”

Jonathan turns in surprise, eyes widening as he sees Billy Hargrove storming towards him down the main street. He has just enough time to wonder what offense, real or imagined, he’s managed to commit before Hargrove has closed the gap between them and grabbed him by the arm.

“Byers, you do photography, right?”

“Uh, yes?” 

“I want you to take some photos for me.”

Oh. This is a commission. His arm is stinging where Billy’s hand is wrapped around it. Apparently Billy thinks the best way to commission someone is to charge at them and physically assault them. “Okay, well … what did you want a photo of?”

“Come with me.”

Billy is still holding his arm, and Jonathan is not particularly keen on that. He doesn’t like being grabbed and manhandled, it brings back a lot of unpleasant memories. It’s not until they reach Billy’s car that the boy finally lets go, giving him an encouraging shove towards the passenger seat. “Get in.”

Slowly, Jonathan gets into the car. The only explanation he can think of is that Billy has killed someone and wants a photo of the body. His suspicions appear to be confirmed as Billy drives them a short way out of Hawkins, along a track through the woods, and into a scrubby empty clearing. 

“Here.”

Jonathan pulls himself out of the car and looks around, mystified. There doesn’t seem to be anything in particular to photograph. Maybe Billy has seen something; a footprint, a bloodstain, some sign of the many terrifying supernatural entities he’d hoped were gone from Hawkins for good. “What … what did you want a photo of?” he repeats, voice shaky.

Billy stares at him as if it’s obvious. “Me.”

“You?”

“Yeah. Me, Byers. Photos of me, so I can give them to someone. Don’t tell me you’ve never done a sexy photoshoot before.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Suddenly things make a lot more sense. Jonathan takes a deep breath and lets the paranoid panic die down. Billy isn’t here to kill him and bury him in the woods, he’s here to make an incredibly misguided attempt at impressing a girl. Well, so long as he’s being paid Jonathan isn’t going to stop him.

He steps back, raising the camera and trying to think about this professionally. He has, naturally, taken a few  _ artistic _ shots in his time. Mostly of Nancy, but that’s easy because he knows what makes Nancy sexy and enjoys capturing it. This is all new territory. Instead of a softly decorated bedroom full of plush toys and a full wardrobe of accessories, he has Billy Hargrove in a scrubby woodland. “Okay, well … what sort of things does she like?”

Billy looks mystified. “Who?”

“The girl you’re taking the pictures for.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh.” Billy’s mouth stretches wide into an evil and terrifying grin. “Yeah,  _ her _ . Well, she’s a rich girl. Rich and dumb. She likes slumming it a bit, you know, the whole rough blue-collar thing…”

“The whole … part time lifeguard thing.” Jonathan can’t help adding dryly, because okay Billy isn’t moneyed wealth but he’s hardly putting in his hours at the factory. Billy’s grin drops into a scowl.

“Don’t make me break your face Byers.”

“Okay, okay. Well…” Jonathan looks around the empty clearing. “We’ve got the car, I guess. We can work with that.”

“You want a picture of me in the car?”

“No just … open the door. Lean against it. Yeah, like that.”

Once he gets over the inherent weirdness of the situation, Jonathan finds it’s not too bad as a commission. There’s plenty of light, and it shines Billy’s hair into gold which contrasts nicely with his red shirt and blue car. The first time he reaches forward to move Billy’s arm, Billy aims a slap, which he dodges quickly and without thinking. That makes Billy grin.

“You’ve done that before Byers.”

Jonathan shrugs, “I’m the weirdo photographer kid. I know how to duck.”

“Know how to throw one as well, if I’ve heard correctly.”

Jonathan keeps his gaze neutral, “Sometimes ducking isn’t enough.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

After a few close-ups Jonathan steps back. “Okay, try popping the hood. Move it up and lean your forearms against it, look down, a little to the side, okay.”

Billy does everything he asks. The power is mildly intoxicating. “Should I take my shirt off?”

Well, it’s a sexy photoshoot. Clearly this was inevitable. “Yeah, but sling it over the hood. I don’t want to lose the red.”

The shirt slides up and over Billy’s back, revealing taut muscle below. Billy leans forward, bending down to look closer at the Camaro’s innards. “Make sure you get my ass, she likes my ass.”

It’s a brave move, Jonathan thinks, making photos like this. Billy might just about have enough confidence to pull it off, but things could backfire badly if the girl takes offense and decides to show them around. In the hands of, say, Carol, they could be a deadly weapon. Still, it’s Billy’s decision, and maybe it’s no bad thing if he ends up taken down a peg. “If you want to show off your ass, maybe scoot your jeans down a little.”

Billy does as he asks, and Jonathan takes a nervous swallow and snaps a photo. There’s no denying it looks sexy, even he can see that. It just doesn’t look like the kind of thing you show a girl. It looks like the sort of photo that might hang on the wall of a certain type of club, for guys who like looking at young, muscular men bent over a car with the curve of their ass peeking out.

Slowly, he lowers the camera. “Okay. That’s some … yeah it looks good. How, how far did you want to go with the - um…”

Billy turns to face him, maintaining eye contact as he unbuckles his jeans and lets them slip to the ground. Jonathan isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. 

“You tell anyone about this Byers, and I’ll break your arm. I actually mean that. Got it?”

“People will know you did it.” Jonathan replies steadily. “They will know because there will be a photograph.”

The hood of the Camaro slams down loudly, but Jonathan doesn’t jump. He keeps his eyes on Billy as the boy stalks back to the door, flinging himself into the car and sprawling out on the driver’s seat, legs wide. His hand disappears into his boxers and he leans back closing his eyes, “Just take the photo, Byers.”

This has moved somewhere new. Jonathan is no longer quite so certain what the photos are for or why Billy wants them. Part of him wonders whether Billy is being blackmailed, or maybe this is all some sort of giant ‘fuck you’ to his old man. From what he’s heard from Will, who hears it from Max, Neil Hargrove has a bit of a vicious streak. Billy is a born rebel, and Jonathan wouldn’t put it past him to storm in one day with a fistful of dubious pictures just to throw them in his father’s face. In times of trouble, Jonathan keeps his head down. Billy sticks his neck out.

He takes the photo as Billy continues to manhandle himself. For a terrifying moment, Jonathan thinks he’s going to have to watch the guy actively jerk off, but thankfully Billy comes to his senses. He gives Jonathan a wink as he pulls himself out of the car, the kind of wink that makes Jonathan feel like he’ll need a very long shower after this.

“You get all that, Byers?”

Jonathan fiddles with the camera while Billy tugs his clothes back on. “I got it. I don’t know if your chick will be particularly impressed.”

“Oh she will. She’ll love it.” Billy laughs, although Jonathan can’t tell why. “You just get them developed and ready.”

“Are you going to pay for them?” As soon as he says it Jonathan realizes that he should have asked it earlier, preferably while surrounded by other people in town rather than skulking in the kind of woods that bodies get buried in. Thankfully, Billy just scowls, reaches into the glove compartment, and shoves a handful of notes at him. 

“There you go. However many prints that gets me, and at least one of me in my underwear.”

Jonathan nods, and waits until they’re back in the car before saying carefully, “You know I won’t tell anyone. Not because of you threatening me, either. It’s your own business what you want to do.”

“Yeah well you’d better not.” Billy growls.

“Just be careful who you show these pictures to, okay? I don’t know what you’re used to but in Hawkins, if a rumor gets around it gets  _ around _ .” Jonathan isn’t sure what he’s quite trying to say, or why he feels like he needs to help or protect Billy in any way. “Rumors can get vicious, and when they do, they stick.”

The car screeches to a halt and a very angry Billy Hargrove is suddenly right in his face. “You trying to threaten me, Byers?”

“No. Just … warning you.”

“You think I need some dweeb like you looking out for me?”

Jonathan shrugs, “I think it would be a good idea if someone did.”

If anything, Billy looks surprised. Maybe he expected Jonathan to be more terrified. But Jonathan has faced plenty of monsters by now, and Billy isn’t one of them. He’s just a kid, trying to figure out how to be a person in a confusing, terrifying world.

With a sigh, Billy starts the car up again, “This goddam town is full of weirdos. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. The - the  _ girl _ I’m giving this shit to? I trust her, okay?”

“You do?” Jonathan hasn’t heard of Billy Hargrove having a steady girlfriend, but honestly he’s not heard much about Billy at all. Will sometimes mentions him, almost always in the context of Max being upset about something, or late for something, or angry about something. Maybe someone in Hawkins has finally started to tame him. “That’s good. It’s good to have someone like that. Someone who feels safe.”

“Yeah…” Billy murmurs out the window. He has a relaxed little smile on his face and Jonathan suddenly wishes he could get out the camera and capture it. It’s not something he thinks the world gets to see very often. “It’s good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Byers boys. 
> 
> (Yes, Will does find the photos while Jonathan is developing them, and yes he does steal one. He keeps it under his pillow. He doesn't tell anyone)


	9. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the drama!  
> WARNINGS: for harsh spanking, object insertion, bad bdsm practice, really bad bdsm practice, seriously these two dumbfucks have no idea what they are doing and do it badly.

It’s two more weeks before Steve’s parents are away. Two weeks of quick little fumbles in the Scoops back room, or hurried trysts in the car whenever they can get a few seconds away from work and home. Two weeks of Steve trying to hide any sign of a relationship from Billy’s dad, and trying to hide the fact that he’s trying to hide it from Billy. Billy doesn’t want the knowledge Steve has about his father to change anything, but of course it does. Steve can’t help himself scanning over Billy’s body every time he sees it naked, glancing at the clock each time it gets late, checking in with Billy if he looks in a bad mood. He’s never sure whether Billy’s snapping and sulking is caused by his general stroppiness or something else.

When Billy arrives at the newly unoccupied Harrington residence, he has a foul temper and a red blotch on the side of his face. Steve twitters helplessly around him, feeling dumb and useless. He grabs a packet of frozen peas out of the freezer and feels even worse as Billy gives a scowl and knocks them out of his hand.

“What the  _ hell _ is the matter with you, Harrington?”

“I thought it might help … “

“You fucking me instead of behaving like an old woman would help. I’m not one of your damn kids.”

Steve reaches down to pick up the peas, throwing them moodily onto the kitchen surface where they slowly thaw, “No, you’re not, because they actually tell me when they have problems, and then we deal with them.”

“You can’t  _ deal  _ with my dad, okay? If you’re gonna be like this I might as well drive home.”

“No…” it comes out a lot more helpless than Steve hoped, and Billy’s face twists into a sneer. “Please, stay, look Billy maybe we should talk about-”

“Fuck that, where does your dad keep his beer?”

The helpless sort of feeling inside him turns into a frustrated sort of feeling. “Don’t you fucking walk away from me, Hargrove.”

Billy stops dead, mid stride to the cupboard. “What did you just say?”

“Get back here.” Steve snarls. Billy turns around and for a frightening moment Steve thinks Billy is going to hit him, or maybe  _ stab _ him, but instead he just stalks back, face like thunder. 

The red blotch on his cheek looks even redder.

“Bend over. Over the table.” The last time Steve felt this out of his depth, he was in Byers’s house with a terrifying unknown monster and no clue what was going on. It all feels very similar now. “Get your jeans down.”

Billy hesitates, looking suddenly very unsure of himself. From his face, it looks like fear is battling with horniness, and Steve has a pretty good idea which one is going to win.

“You want me to fuck you.” Steve continues, a little gentler. “And you want me to spank you.” Billy’s lip twitches but he doesn’t move. “I can’t do either of those while you’re stomping around my kitchen getting drunk. Get over the table.”

Slowly, Billy shuffles his jeans down past his hips. “I seem to remember you saying something about a ping-pong bat?”

“Yeah … except I have no clue where the damn thing is…” While Billy settles himself over the kitchen table, Steve hunts through the drawers until he finds a stainless-steel spatula with a round plastic handle, and a heavy wooden spoon. He lays them down on the table next to Billy, and watches his eyes bug out as he sees them.

“You ready for this Hargrove?”

“Fucking try me.”

Steve starts with the spatula, because it looks more comfortable to hold. It’s certainly a lot more comfortable for him than it is for Billy, if the yelping and jumping it produces are anything to go by. He’s even louder than he was at the motel; Steve isn’t sure if it’s because the spatula is made of metal, or because it’s easier to swing and control than the belt was. Billy is also a lot less drunk than he was at the motel, which is bound to make a difference.

By the time he stops Steve is panting with the effort, and Billy’s ass is covered in red lines and blotches. He’s turned his face away from Steve, but the sound of him sniffling is still very audible. Gently, Steve lays a hand over the red damaged skin, amazed at how hot it is, before bending over to lay a light kiss against the wet tear stained cheek. 

Billy takes a deep shuddering breath. His eyes are tightly closed, his body trembling. Steve wonders if maybe he went too far, but surely Billy would have stopped him. It’s not like he’s been tied down over the table. One hand gropes blindly up, and Steve grabs it without thinking, holding tight.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs down at Billy’s hair.

“Don’t fucking  _ start _ Harrington…” Billy’s voice sounds shaky but there’s still an undercurrent of anger behind it. Steve wonders what it’ll take to just make him  _ stop _ . Stop trying to always seem strong, and judging his own self-worth against an arbitrary measure of how much pain he can take. He picks up the spatula again and hears Billy give a soft little whimper. Gently, he pats it against Billy’s backside, watching the skin tense and twitch and try to move away from it. “Your choice, Hargrove, do you want this bouncing off your ass or inside it?”

“I-inside…”

A quick flick of the wrist sends the spatula snapping smartly against Billy’s thigh, “What was that?”

“I-inside please Sir…” Billy sounds desperate. It sends shivers through Steve, blood rushing down into his cock. 

“Are you sure?” Steve continues relentlessly, because with Billy like this, so raw and open, there’s the temptation to see how far he can strip him down. He snaps the spatula against Billy’s other thigh. “The handle’s not thin. There’s all these ridges on it. It’s gonna feel pretty big up that tight little hole of yours. Maybe you should get another good hard spanking instead?”

Billy just falls apart, right there on the table in front of him. Steve keeps a hand in his hair, making soothing little noises and stroking with his fingers, as Billy sobs and hiccups, and gasps out, “Oh please no, please Steve, I can’t - please just get it inside me, it h-hurts and I-”

Steve doesn’t want to leave Billy without human contact, but he needs to move to grab the butter. He greases the spatula handle up right in front of Billy’s face, watching the way his eyes remain fixed on it, glassy and wet with tears.  _ If it’s too much _ , he tells himself,  _ Billy will ask me to stop.  _ Obviously Billy will, or maybe just turn around and thump him in the mouth.

Except Billy has never looked less like he’s about to do either of those things.

Spanking has tensed Billy’s asshole right up, and it takes a bit of hard work to get the handle of the spatula inside him. Billy’s sobs restart, his hand half crushing Steve's as the wide thick plastic slowly forces it’s way forward. When it gets to the first ridge, Steve stops, just so Billy can feel the full width of the thing.

Reaching down, he kisses under Billy’s eyes, which only makes more tears leak out of them. Belatedly, it occurs to Steve that he should maybe check in with Billy, even at the risk of getting yelled at again. “You doing okay, man?”

“H-hurts…”

“What hurts, your ass, or … inside your ass?”

Billy makes a strange noise that Steve first thinks is a dry-heave but apparently is a bad attempt at a laugh, “Yeah.”

“Oh …” Steve bites his lip, not sure how to continue with this. He wraps his hand around the spatula, and presses it forward gently until the first ridge slides fully inside Billy. “Want me to take it out?”

“No.”

“Want me to push it all in then spank you with a wooden spoon?”

“Fuck…” Billy takes a few moments to hyperventilate and Steve reaches around to feel at his cock. To his surprise it’s rock hard. His hand slowly starts to stroke it, watching in an amazed sort of excitement as Billy’s asshole spasms around the spatula handle.

“I think that’s what I’m gonna do, Hargrove.”

Another whimper from Billy, but no more tears. Maybe he’s run out of them.  Keeping one hand on Billy’s cock, Steve moves the other one back to the spatula, slowly pressing it forward to the next ridge, stopping again when Billy’s ass is open around the widest point. “You gonna beg me again, Hargrove?”

“Fuck you.” Billy mutters into the table. 

Steve keeps the wooden spoon spanking fairly light, or at least as light as he can with his cock jumping desperately every time Billy yelps. He keeps going until Billy does start begging, and crying again, and then he stops so he can concentrate on fucking Billy with the spatula. In, out, in, out … it’s almost mesmerizing watching Billy's ass open and close around the thick plastic ridges. His other hand stays firmly on Billy’s cock, stroking and squeezing and drawing back when Billy starts to get close. He’s a bit afraid to make Billy cum. After Billy does, they’re going to have to address the situation, to look at what they’ve both done, and work out what the fuck to do about it.

So he moves his hand away from Billy’s cock and strokes his own for a bit, smacking the sore ass with his hand when Billy complains. When he’s covered the worn-out ass in his own jizz, he gets back onto Billy’s cock, which cums after half a second. The noise Billy makes is loud enough to confirm that they can only do this kind of thing when Steve’s parents are at least more than two states away.

The easy thing to do, Steve knows, would be to scuttle to the bathroom and leave Billy to sort himself out. But that would be beyond cruel. He’s not sure whether to wipe Billy down or hug him first, but Billy solves that one by shakily pushing himself up and flinging himself into Steve’s arms. It almost knocks him over, and he staggers them both backwards into the living room so that he can collapse safely on the sofa.

Billy’s ass is hot beneath his hands. Disturbingly hot. Steve strokes it gently as he pets Billy’s hair, waiting for him to stop crying and wondering dimly whether he’s even worse at being a boyfriend to a guy than he was at being a boyfriend to a girl. Sure he might have emotionally ignored Nancy, accidentally led to her friends murder, bullied her boyfriend, usual sort of stuff, but he’d never hit her. Now not only has he hit Billy, he’s  _ enjoyed  _ hitting Billy, and then jizzed all over his beaten-up ass.

“You’re shaking.” Billy mumbles from his chest. “Why are you shaking?”

“Because I’m a fuckup.” Is the only reply Steve can think of, his voice sounding hoarse and surprisingly low. It feels like he’s about to cry, which is ridiculous and also very unfair on Billy who probably doesn’t need any more tears going on.

“Did I fuck you up, trust fund?” Billy asks, but it’s said teasingly soft instead of aggressive. Steve buries his face in Billy’s hair, and Billy’s hand strokes softly along the back of his neck. “I do that. Especially to people I love, I do that.”

“No it wasn’t you, it was just…” Steve hesitates, not sure still what the answer is or how far to trust Billy with it. It might just be some sort of normal psychological response to absent and disappointed parents. Or it might have something to do with spending most of the previous year fighting terrifying monsters from another dimension. Billy is refreshingly human, in all his loud, angry glory. “I mean, it’s not like you love  _ me. _ ”

The silence stretches out, like a great yawning void. Steve processes the words that came out of his mouth and thonks his head back hard against the wall. “Shit, I didn’t mean that I meant…”

Billy gives a snort of laughter. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are just a fuckup.”

“I think I am.”

“Fuckup with a nice dick though.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a bit more silence but this one is comfortable and close. Eventually Billy sighs and gives a shiver. “Yeah okay, that’s enough of that. Go get your dad’s beer. Let’s never do this again sometime.”

“The bit with the spatula or … all of it?” Steve asks, hauling himself out from under the dead weight of a well-spanked Californian punk and staggering over to the drinks cabinet. 

“The bit with the wooden spoon, shitbrain. That wasn’t fucking necessary.”

This is good, Steve thinks, this is talking. They should both be sensible and grown-up about this so they can proceed with more care in future. “Okay. Great. Maybe next time you could tell me that while I’m actually hitting you with it?”

“Or maybe you could  _ stop _ when I start choking on my own fucking tears.” Billy’s face twists in self-disgust, and Steve hurries back with the beer and shoves it into his hand before he can go tumbling all the way down.

“Hey, hey. You weren’t weak or anything. It looked pretty brutal. I’ll … yeah. Next time I’ll watch out, okay, next time I’ll do better.”

Billy cracks a smile and raises the beer in a toast. “Yeah. Next time we’ll do better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I - yeah. Sorry Billy XD


	10. Playing roles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: no actual sex, but plenty of descriptions of it. Developing understanding of bdsm practices. Neil's here being Neil.

Billy is never sure quite how he feels about Susan. She’s clearly no replacement for his mother, but then again she never pretends to be or particularly wants to be. He supposes he probably should feel sorry for her, stuck with Neil just like he is, but in her case it’s her own damn fault. She’s one of the few people who knows how weak Neil can make him, which he should hate, but then she’s also sometimes the reason Neil curbs in his anger instead of giving it free rein.

The best thing about Susan is that she can cook. After a decade of badly put together takeaway food, or getting various items of fruit flung at his head, Susan’s cosy little pot roasts and all-American apple pies are a welcome gift. Billy sometimes wonders whether maybe that’s why Neil put so much effort into keeping her in the first place. Carefully courting her, keeping his anger in check and only letting it out to deal with  _ my goddam delinquent son that hippy bitch dumped on me _ . Neil is good at excusing away what he does. At least Billy gets apple pie out of it.

Today though, he’s finding it hard to eat. Susan has noticed and looks concerned. Neil has noticed and looks angry. Max hasn’t noticed, and is busy prattling away about her day at the mall while Billy tries to keep his cool and not panic. It’s hard not to panic, when he has Steve Harrington upstairs in his bedroom.

Steve Harrington upstairs naked in his bedroom.

Steve Harrington upstairs naked in his bedroom handcuffed to the bed because  _ someone _ forgot to check if the keys actually worked before snapping the handcuffs.

The minute he gets a chance Billy will scoot down to the basement, grab the bent hacksaw, and try to cut Steve free. Until then, he’s stuck playing happy families, hoping desperately that nobody feels the need to walk into his bedroom. 

His hands are sweating.

When it comes to sex Billy’s imagination is vivid, but not wildly exotic. Billy’s fantasies involve Steve’s tongue up his ass, Steve’s belt snapping into his skin, and one day hopefully sinking his cock into Steve’s tight little asshole and watching his face transport into a new kind of pleasure. There are plenty of situations and positions that Billy likes to imagine while he jerks off quietly in his bedroom, but most of them start with both participants naked and do not have much dialogue beyond cries of pleasure. Ever since he unleashed Steve’s sexual imagination, the guy keeps coming up with increasingly more involved sexual scenarios. A lifeguard and a cheeky student, the Scoops Ahoy boy catching an ice-cream thief, a handyman in overalls who accidentally breaks an expensive vase. Billy doesn’t mind, because the sex is always mindblowing when they finally get to it, but he’s not sure he particularly needs the twenty minutes of amateur dramatics to get naked.

Which leads to the handcuffs.

_ “C’mon…” Steve wheedles, waving them in front of Billy’s face, “You love the idea of a big bad cop having his way with you. I know you do.” _

_ “I am not wearing handcuffs, Harrington…” _

_ “We’ll do tap-out, like we did when you were the ice-cream thief. That worked, didn’t it? You can tap-out if it goes somewhere you don’t like.” _

_ Billy reaches up and knocks his fist twice against the wall. “There. I’m tapping out. You’re not cuffing me.” _

_ “Fine. How about if I wear the handcuffs.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “You get to be the cop. Wear your leather jacket and aviator shades. I’ll be the dumb preppy kid busted for underage drinking.” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Yeah…” _

It had all been going swimmingly well until he’d heard Neil’s car driving up outside. He’d known even before Steve even said that there was a problem, known with a sense of fatalistic doom that sunk into him like iced water down the back of his neck. The cuffs were stuck, and Steve was stuck, and they were both fucked.

“How was your day, Billy?” Susan asks, falsely bright. She’s looking at him with concern. He knows she wants to ask how he is, but also doesn’t want to get him into trouble with Neil. “Did you go out anywhere while we were at the new mall?”

Billy shakes his head, forcing a smile. He needs to act normal, that’s all he needs to do. Keep his cool for another few hours, then he can saw through the handcuff chain and get Steve out of his bed. The handcuffs will still be locked around Steve’s wrists but that, quite frankly, is Steve’s problem.

“Stayed in, did you?” Neil growls through gritted teeth. Max frowns, and even Susan looks shocked. At first, Billy can’t work out why his dad is so angry. Then it hits him that of course, if you leave your fuck-up of a son at home all day and come home to find him a sweaty paranoid wreck, there’s only one real explanation a good father would consider.

He shuffles himself more upright and tries to stop his hand shaking. “Yes Sir. I just … did a workout, had a nap.” He thinks briefly of blaming his job for exhausting him, but Neil doesn’t think it’s real work. Maybe he could claim to be coming down with something, but that sounds exactly like the kind of excuse a guy who's spent the whole afternoon on soft drugs  _ would _ come up with. “I did some work on the car. You know I was thinking about what you said, about that certification course at the garage.”

That throws Neil enough for Billy to shovel a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. His saliva appears to have dried up completely, and he hastily grabs at the water to gulp it down.

“Yes, well.” Neil answers, eyes narrowed as he watches Billy choking on potatoes, “You’ll need a proper job someday.”

“It’s good work to get into.” Susan gushes, eyes desperately bright. She’s prepared a good dinner, Billy thinks, she doesn’t deserve to have it wrecked by another argument. “I got a cousin who works as a mechanic, he says there’s steady pay, you can work your way up.”

Billy finally manages to get the potatoes down and nods back at her. “Did you have a good time at the mall, Susan?”

It feels bizarre, like one of Steve’s dumb sex games but without the sex at the end of it. Susan’s playing that she has a sweet, loving little put-together family, Neil is pretending he didn’t spend all day trailing round a girly mall then come home to find his only son is a twitching junkie, and Billy is acting like he doesn’t have a naked man upstairs handcuffed to his bed.

Max is the only one who won’t bullshit. She finishes her meal in stony silence, then hops down with a scowling “please-may-i-be-excused” and stomps off to her room. Neil gives Susan an annoyed sort of look but doesn’t remonstrate with her. He never does. 

Billy waits until they’ve both finished, pushing his mashed potatoes into a pile, and cutting his ham into smaller and smaller pieces. He clears the table, helps with the washing up, then takes the dinky little brush Susan keeps with the cutlery and sweeps the crumbs off the table. He even brings Neil a beer as he relaxes in front of the television, and Neil grabs at his wrist as he turns to leave. 

“If I find  _ anything _ in your room, boy…”

“I don’t keep it in my room.” Billy murmurs back, while his heart short-circuits inside his chest. “I keep it in the car. You think I want Max to find it?”

Neil gives him a triumphant sort of look. “I knew you’d been taking something. It’s a filthy habit and it’ll ruin your life. Car keys. Now.”

There is actually some weed in the Camaro’s glove box, and Billy hopes that’ll pass for enough of an excuse. Reluctantly, he hands the keys over, watching as Neil stuffs them into his pocket. “Don’t think you’re getting these back anytime soon.”

“No Sir.”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, when Susan and Max are out.”

“Yes Sir.”

Back in his room, Billy sinks down onto the bed shivering. Steve pops his head out from under the blankets, shaking his hair out. “Thank god, man, I’m sweating under there. How the hell does it take you so long to have dinner?”

“Shhh!” Even as a whisper, Steve’s voice is too loud. “Max is right across the hall. Fucking shut up.”

Steve glances at the wall with worried eyes, lowering his voice down almost to silent. “Is everything okay? How … I mean they don’t know do they? I parked way down the road.”

There isn’t a way he can explain why he’s so terrified, certainly not in hurried whispers to this sweet floppy-haired sunshine boy, who just wants to explore his newfound love of cock and play kinky games with his boyfriend. He can’t explain to Steve anymore than he can explain why he does not want to feel the physical click of a handcuff around his wrist, or why they have to have this dumb  _ tap-out _ system for when things get rough in the bedroom. Somehow Billy can’t just ask Steve to tone it down when it gets overwhelming, he has to bang his fist against something. Apparently that’s the only way he can communicate.

Slowly, Billy forms a fist. He stares at it, running his thumb over the knuckles. 

“Do you want to see if you can fuck me while your dad is actually in the house?” Steve giggles breathlessly from the bed.

Reaching across, Billy bops his fist softly down twice on Steve’s head.

“Want me to suck you off?”

Tap-tap.

“Want to sneak out of the window with me and take my virginity in the garden?”

Billy’s fist pauses in midair. “Don’t be dumb. It’ll hurt.”

“Maybe it should. Maybe that’s payback. I've hurt you plenty, and I get you into fuckups like this.”

“It’ll really hurt, man. You ever had  _ anything _ up your ass before?”

Steve hesitates, and Billy takes the opportunity to bop him twice on the head again. “Maybe I won’t set you free at all. Maybe I like you cuffed here to my bedroom not making any goddam noise.”

Steve wriggles against the sheets. The danger is so close, so real, he can see it turning Steve on. Maybe if it was a teacher, or Hopper, or anyone except his father in the house, it would turn Billy on as well. Bending forward Billy whispers directly into Steve’s ear, eyes fixed on the closed door. “I’d keep you under the bed with my porn, naked and dirty. I’d feed you on leftover bread and spank you for complaining.”

Steve’s entire body is writhing now. Billy puts a hand on his chest to hold him still. Outside, he can hear the quiet tip-toe of Susan moving to her room. She’s probably getting her sewing basket, in a vain attempt to try and hold together the permanently ripped knees of Max’s jeans. Neil is watching TV, Max is in her room. It’s as good a time as any to grab the hacksaw from the basement and set about getting Steve free. 

“I’d ride on your dick every day…” he murmurs as Susan’s footsteps recede in the direction of the dining room. “I’d ride it until you were empty and gasping, until you passed out. And every Monday, after my first shift at work, I’d come home and fuck you.” 

Steve’s legs kick out against the mattress.

“I’d be real rough. All covered in grease and engine oil, angry and pissed off after a full day's work. I’d bend your skinny little body in half and fuck into it till you screamed, whether you want it or not. I think after the first month you’d stop complaining. Or maybe you’d just be tired of how I beat your ass raw for squealing too much.”

“B-Billy…” Steve is staring at him, eyes wide and begging. His cock is hard and straining upwards. Sitting up, Billy picks up the blanket and flings it back over the top of him.

“ _ That’s _ payback, Harrington. Now keep fucking quiet while I go get the hacksaw.” 

He gets the fright of his life when he opens the door to see Max’s eyes staring back at him from across the hallway. She’s still in her room, but the door is ajar and her eyes are narrowed directly on him. 

“Hey Max…” he whispers quietly, still playing the family-game. “I just want to get some tools from the basement, for, uh …”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You’ve got a girl in there, haven’t you?”

“Max, I swear on my mother’s life, there is no girl in that room.”

“You think I’ve never had to sneak someone out of my bedroom before.” She crosses her arms, “I heard her when I went past. She’s not very quiet.” 

Billy stares steadily back at her. “Fine. There’s a girl in my room. She bought me drugs and we spent all afternoon getting high together and now she’s handcuffed to my bed because that seemed like a good idea. I need to get her out before dad finds out. Happy?”

There’s a small flicker of a smirk in her eyes, “Happy. I’ll watch the corridor, you go get your tools. Maybe next time you sneak someone into your room, don’t handcuff them to anything?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Billy scoots down to the basement as quietly as he can. He doesn’t think Max moves, she’s certainly back in her bedroom when he returns, but her smirk is a lot wider. He gives her a nod and holds up the hacksaw. “Right. Okay. Distract your mom if she comes down the corridor, I’ll get it sorted.”

“Yeah.” Her expression is difficult to read. To his surprise she steps forward and gives him a strange sisterly punch on the arm. “Be careful Billy, okay? Just … don’t do anything stupid.”

Between the two of them, Billy wonders just how many people have been coming and going from this house that Neil Hargrove doesn’t know about.

“And Billy?” She hesitates as he puts his hand on the door, her fingers twisting through the bottom of her shirt. “Next time … tell Steve Harrington to park his car a lot further down. Like, a lot. It’s a very noticeable car.”

Then with a flash of red hair she’s back in her room, leaving Billy staring at the twisted hacksaw.

Well fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the first one to find out is: MAX
> 
> (I'm pretty sure she just quickly pushed the door ajar to take a look and Steve went "Billy?" from under the covers because he is a dumbass)


	11. And Then I See A Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I've been very nervous about this chapter. This story is now moving into season three, albeit an AU of season 3 where Billy and Steve have this relationship thing going on.
> 
> WARNINGS for possession, sadness, angst, and no sex at all...

1\. Steve

Billy’s doing the later shift today, so Steve turns up at the motel first and books the room. To his great relief there’s a different woman at the front desk, even if she looks just as bored as the last one. He signs for the room unthinkingly with a scribbled  _ Steve Harrington _ and then after a brief moment adds an uncertain  _ Smith _ to the end. Steve Harrington Smith - not the world’s best alias. Billy will love it.

He’s brought plenty of beer, along with a stolen bottle of his dad’s whiskey. He’s also bought the wooden spoon and a few lengths of long silk ribbon. The handcuffs might have ended disastrously, but Steve rather enjoyed the sensation of being attached to Billy’s bed, and ribbon ties feel like they might be easier to get out of. He cracks open a beer, peers out the window at the carpark, and waits for Billy.

It’s several long hours before the clock hits midnight and Steve finally allows himself to admit that Billy isn’t coming. He forces himself not to panic, not to feel too disappointed or let-down. There are plenty of perfectly innocent reasons to explain why Billy isn’t here. Maybe he’s grounded, or not yet been given back his car keys. Maybe the late shift at the swimming pool went on too late and Billy is exhausted. Maybe he forgot, or got high, or had to stay in to babysit Max. There’s no real reason for Steve to believe that Billy is in trouble.

No reason except the nagging sense of danger that he just can’t shift.

He falls asleep in his clothes on the motel bed, and wakes up with bug-bites.

* * *

For the next few days, Steve tries to distract himself. He throws himself into work, and whatever dumb theory Dustin Henderson has come up with to explain why Russian language transmission is coming out of the mall. After three days he finally snaps, putting on his slouchiest clothes and grabbing the two string bracelets that Billy left behind last time he was at Steve’s house.

That was the time, Steve remembers, that he first beat Billy. Beat him with a spatula and a wooden spoon, hard enough to make him cry. The thought sends shame and bile rising up inside him. He crosses the speed limit plenty on the way to the Hargrove house, parking down the road out of habit before realizing he doesn’t have to this time. He rolls the car forward obnoxiously and parks it right in front of Billy’s front door. It's right behind the Camaro, which he notices with alarm looks a little worse for wear. The windscreen has cracked and broken, and there's a sizable dent in the side.

Maybe Billy was caught in a car accident?

The door is opened by Mr Hargrove, clearly in the middle of dinner. From inside the house Steve can hear the clink of cutlery, and a woman asking, “Who is it Neil?” 

Steve puts on his best customer service voice and says politely, “Is, uh, does a Mister William Hargrove live here?”

Neil frowns, but Billy is already appearing behind him. Steve is ready for the shock, confusion, and quite possibly anger he’ll see in Billy’s face and it throws him completely when instead he sees … nothing.

Nothing at all. Just a small frown, and a bland look of non-recognition. It’s exactly the way Steve would want Billy to behave in this situation, and exactly the last thing Billy would ever do. Billy is wearing a pale blue button-down polo neck, his hair is smartly brushed and clean. His jeans have been ironed.

Something is wrong.

“Can I help you?” Neil snaps. Steve refocuses on the more immediate task, holding the bracelets up in front of him quickly.

“Um. I work at the cinema, at the mall. Mister Hargrove left these behind when he was last here.”

Neil snatches the bracelets and Steve resists the urge to jump. He glances at Billy instead, getting the same politely empty stare in return. He wants to say something, to explain in some sort of code that they need to meet and talk, but they have no code and Neil is standing right there. 

“Anything else?” Neil asks, somewhat sarcastically, “Or can I get back to my pot roast?”

“Oh, uh. No Sir. Thank you.” Steve takes a trembling step backwards and Neil firmly closes the door in his face. Steve hesitates, and then presses his ear to the door, wincing as he hears Neil’s voice raise inside.

“Who the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.” Billy answers, cool and collected. “Just some fag from the cinema.”

Steve feels his heart drop through his feet.

“I don’t want you wasting your time there.” Neil snaps, footsteps heading back towards the dining room. “Do you hear me, boy?”

“Of course Sir.” He can just about hear Billy’s answer. It’s polite and measured, a very sensible reply to keep Billy out of trouble, and get his father off his back. The perfect reply for Billy to give.

Something is  _ wrong _ .

2\. Billy

The darkness covers him in suffocating, endless blackness.

There was an incident once on the beach when Billy was young, before he properly knew how to control the surfboard. The waves came up too quickly, Billy moved too slowly, and for a moment the surfboard was above him and the water was below him and he had no idea where the air was. He’d thought in that long terrible moment that he was going to drown, until a strong hand pulled him up and out of the water. That’s exactly how he feels now, like he’s endlessly drowning with no release.

The darkness is everywhere.

But at the same time, Billy knows it’s still clearly  _ him _ . 

It’s him who kidnaps Heather. It’s him who almost attacks one of the mothers who hangs around at the swimming pool. It’s him who comes to the door the next evening and gets the fright of his life when he sees Steve Harrington standing behind it, like he’s not talking to one monster while staring down a second. The darkness curls into his head like a parasite, dispassionately flipping through his memories and thoughts to pull his body in the direction it needs.

Billy wants to move, to yell, to do  _ something _ to signal to Steve that he needs to get out, right now. The darkness takes over and for the rest of the meal Billy is coldly and dispassionately dragged through the worst times in his head. His mother leaving, Neil breaking his surfboard, the day they left California, Steve’s face twisting as he looked through Billy’s porn:  _ I wasn’t expecting this... _

The darkness doesn’t talk to him. It just puts words and images inside his mind, communicating with vicious and terrifying clarity. If he makes things difficult for the darkness, the darkness will make things difficult for him. It doesn’t care, after all, what state his physical body is in. If Neil beats him, or El throws him through a wall, it doesn’t matter. It’s only a concern to the darkness if Billy is prevented from leaving the house to carry out his aims. 

The darkness, as it turns out, is better at pretending to be a good son than Billy ever was.

It amazes him that nobody seems to notice. Here he is, being dragged through his own private hell by some strange dark entity that puppets his every move and  _ nobody actually notices _ . Max sometimes shoots him a concerned sort of look, and he gets pulled up twice at work with accusations of being on drugs, but other than that the darkness is unchallenged. After the failed attempt at Billy’s house, Steve doesn’t try again to contact him, and Billy curls up in the corner of his own head in tears as the darkness drags him through the bad moments of what can shakily be thought of as their relationship. Steve snorting about little he trusts Billy while rolling on a condom, Steve complaining about not being able to get laid while fucking him at Scoops Ahoy, Steve taking him dry and raw at the quarry, Steve’s  _ face _ when he’d first seen the  _ BlueBoy  _ magazine (Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever get over that)...

It’s almost a relief when the darkness pulls him out to murder people. Maybe that’s the idea. Billy slams the bottle down onto Mr Holloway’s head with the strength he’s built up from pull-ups and weights and wonders just how much of it is the darkness and how much of it is him.

Then it’s back to drowning.

Heather patches him up when his body is broken, hands moving over torn skin and bruised muscle. It doesn’t care, Billy knows, it doesn’t care how much his body gets hurt. His body and mind belong to it, belong to the darkness. Almost every single bit of him does, and Billy knows that’s why he’s being dragged through hell, that’s why he's been chosen to take on the dangerous girl, and why the darkness locks him in his own head every night with the worst possible memories.

Because there’s a small part of Billy Hargrove that does not belong to the darkness, and the darkness cannot take it. 

There’s a small part of him that will, now and forever, belong to Steve Harrington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then I see a darkness  
> And then I see a darkness  
> And then I see a darkness  
> And then I see a darkness  
> Did you know how much I love you?  
> There's a hope that somehow you  
> Can save me from this darkness


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is moving through to post-season 3. It's a sort of season 3 AU where Dustin Henderson knows what Planck's constant is :p
> 
> WARNINGS: pain, vomit, injury

Billy wakes slowly and unwillingly, dragged up through the waters of sleep by a searing starburst of heat across his heart. The closer to the top he gets the more the pain builds. By the time he breaks through the surface it’s a bright unhappy throb that seems to radiate through his chest and over his whole body.

It hurts to breathe. That’s new.

He hears a noise from next to him and slowly turns his head. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to see, but it certainly isn’t a fourteen year old boy with a terrible haircut sat in a rickety chair. Billy squints at him, licking dry lips to croak out, “Who the  _ fuck _ are you?”

“Billy!” the kid seems delighted to see him. The room is both too cold and too hot at the same time. Billy tries to push himself up and it spins alarmingly then fades out for a few moments.

When things come back into focus the kid is still there, looking down at him anxiously, “Billy? Are you okay?”

Where is he? He appears to be lying in a bed in some sort of wooden shack, with a large hole in the roof above him badly covered by a tarpaulin. Maybe he’s been kidnapped? The kid staring at him dumbstruck with tears in his eyes doesn’t look like a kidnapper. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He tries again.

This time at least he gets an answer, as a skinny hand shoots out to help him into a sitting position. From here the room looks, if anything, even worse. “I’m Will, Will Byers.”

Byers. The name gives him nothing. That probably shows in his face because the kid, Will, frowns uncertainly.

“Billy? What do you remember?”

What does he remember? Moving out of California. Max slamming a nail-covered bat inches away from his dick. Steve Harrington’s hand stroking gently down his back. Driving to the motel, wind in his hair, tapping along to the beat of the music, grinning at himself in the mirror. The excitement and giddy anticipation of another night away with Steve...

Will grabs at a bucket by the bed and manages to get it in front of Billy in time. What comes up is mostly liquid, and when he’s done his stomach cramps in hunger.

“What happened?” He groans.

The kid pats his arm a little uncertainly. “Do you remember the Mind Flayer?”

“I … I don’t know what that is?” He remembers the crunch of the car as something slammed into the windscreen. The noise from the abandoned steel works and then … the darkness. 

Oh god. He killed people.

There’s nothing left inside him to throw up, but Billy retches at the bucket for a good few minutes before he feels ready to stop. The kid's hand rubs along his back, in a way that doesn’t feel completely unpleasant.

“Byers…” he manages when it’s over. “I, yeah. I remember. Your brother takes the photos, right?”

For some unaccountable reason the kid blushes bright red.

Billy looks down at his chest, taking a deep and painful breath as he sees the layers of bandages that cover it. Whatever is under there can’t be good. His shoulder is similarly wrapped up, as is his leg. Both of them hurt, but not quite as much as his chest, which is agonizing and constant.

“You’re okay now…” says the kid from next to him, in what he probably thinks is a reassuring way. “You weren’t before. I know … I know how it feels, to have that thing…”

“The darkness…” Billy mutters, thinking he’d probably rather forget.

“Yeah…”

“It was inside your head too…?”

“Yeah.”

For some reason, that’s comforting to hear. It’s good to know he isn’t the only one. “Is this … are we in prison?”

The smaller Byers frowns, “What? No, why would we be…”

“Why wouldn’t we… oh god.” Billy thinks he’s going to hurl again but after some frantic swallowing and shaking the urge manages to pass. “What happened? There was … that girl. There was my mother…”

His voice wobbles and Billy angrily takes the deepest breath he can, just to feel the rasping horrible pain. He is  _ not _ going to cry in front of Tiny Tim.

“You almost died.” Byers says, so matter of fact that it makes Billy shudder. “Most people think you  _ did _ die. Hopper brought you back here, they patched you up.”

“Does Max think I’m dead?” Billy asks. He can’t stop the tears now, leaking out from the corners of his eyes. “Does dad?”

“Max knows you’re here.” Will doesn’t meet his eyes. “So does my mum, Hopper, and El.”

Billy takes another deep breath, this one hurts even more and makes him bitterly regret it. “Steve?”

“What?”

Fuck it. He’s injured and close to death in a wooden cabin with a hole in the roof. His father has quite possibly already buried him. Priorities are not what they were. “Does Steve Harrington know I’m alive.”

Something flickers in Will’s eyes and he lays a hand on Billy’s arm. “He’s not supposed to, but Max told him.”

“Steve knows?”

“He came to see you yesterday.” Will’s hand squeezes his arm and Billy moves his hand over the top of the smaller one and squeezes back. “He sat right here and watched you. It’s okay Billy. I mean … everything is strange and horrible, El has no powers, Steve was tortured by Russians, and Hopper almost got pulled into the upside-down, but it’s okay now. It’s going to be okay.”

Only one part of Will’s speech really registers in the confused rush of Billy’s mind, “Fucking Russians. I’ll kill them.”

“They already exploded. You’re fine Billy. You’re fine and it’s  _ going to be okay _ .”

* * *

It’s another day before Steve comes to see him. Hopper arrives as soon as it gets dark, and the younger Byers vanishes. Billy pretends to be asleep, because he’s not sure he can cope with any kind of conversation with the Chief of Police after what’s just happened. He still feels like he’s trying to make sense of the world. A large number of the certainties in his life have vanished, replaced by a deep yawning void of terror. 

By the time Steve arrives, Billy is sitting up in bed in one of Hopper’s too-big flannel shirts eating an oversweet waffle. Steve’s face appears at the window and then the door unlocks and Steve is suddenly there, big and loud and smelling of fresh air. The left side of his face is a patchwork of yellow and green with fading bruises and Billy feels his heart clench.

“Billy! You’re awake!”

The egg waffle goes dry in his mouth. Billy frantically swallows down and mutters, “Yeah.”

“Will told me.” Steve rushes to his bedside and then stops a little awkwardly, clearly not sure what to do now he’s there. “When did you wake up?”

“Yesterday.” Billy stupidly takes another bite of the egg waffle which fills his mouth like glue. He should be pleased to see Steve, he knows. He should feel happy and excited and complete - instead he feels vaguely sick. He tries to swallow the mouthful of waffle but there’s no chance and so he spits it out stupidly over the side of the bed next to Steve’s feet. 

Steve stares at it, a small frown creasing his face. “Are you okay man? That thing, the mind-Nazi thing, it got Will last year. It seems to mess people up pretty bad.”

The uncertain sort of feeling in Billy’s stomach solidifies suddenly into a very certain sort of feeling. This is the answer, he realizes, the answer to a question that started last autumn at the Byers house and is only now being answered. “You knew about this thing?”

“What? Well, I mean I knew when I saw you. When I came to your house. I knew something was wrong, and I told Jonathan and Jonathan was doing this story, and then there were the Russians-” Steve witters on about rats and chemicals, but Billy’s mind isn’t capable of focusing on more than one thing at the moment, and he’s already decided what it’s going to be. He can’t cope with the things he’s done over the last few weeks, so instead he’s going to be a dick to Steve about the thing he hasn’t. 

“You knew about the darkness. You knew it was out there. You didn’t think to maybe tell me?”

Steve falters, his voice dying out. His excitement is starting to twist into hurt and Billy jumps on that viciously.

“We’ve been fucking for what, a month? All that time you knew there was a deadly murder shadow creature living in Hawkins and it never occurred to you to  _ warn _ me about it?”

“We thought it was dead…” Steve answers, face falling. “The gate, El closed the gate. It shouldn’t have come back.”

El. The girl. Billy feels his heart drop, “Max. Did Max know?”

“C’mon man, we weren’t allowed to just go around telling - hey!”

Billy grabs his wrist and tugs Steve down onto the bed with him, hard and painful. Everything from his leg to his shoulder complains, but it doesn’t matter because Steve is suddenly  _ there _ , bruised and beautiful. Billy grabs at his hair with one hand, kissing hard at his face with the other as Steve wriggles and yelps and makes confused sorts of noises underneath him. Billy isn’t sure if he wants to kiss Steve or kill him, he only knows he has to do  _ something _ before the true reality of what he’s done hits Steve like a sledgehammer and the boy walks out of his life completely.

“Billy - fuck man I was so fucking scared…” Steve gasps at him, and then starts kissing back. That hurts his chest more than anything, but Billy doesn’t care. He thinks he’d be more than happy to die like this, wrapped up with a beautiful boy on an uncomfortable bed in a shack in the middle of nowhere. Save the state some added paperwork.

The kiss breaks eventually, when Billy’s ribs become too painful even for masochistic self loathing to enjoy. Steve carefully moves him back to sitting position, then curls up in the bed next to him. “We thought you were dead, man. That thing batted you about, then grabbed at your chest, then just fucking  _ collapsed _ right then and there. You went down, El was screaming, there was blood all over the place. It was a hell of a mess.”

“I killed people.” Billy whispers back. He feels Steve tense a little, then Steve’s hand reaches up to pet at his hair. 

“The Mind-Nazi killed people, you didn’t.”

“It was me, Steve. It was - why do you call it a Nazi?”

“That’s what the kids call it.”

“No they don’t.” Billy can’t remember what Will Byers called the damn thing, but he’s pretty sure it didn’t involve any reference to German fascists. “Stop talking shit. It got in my head, yeah, but it was still me killing people, hiding things, feeding them all those chemicals.” His breath heaves and stutters and the pain in his chest flares up. “I’m off grid now, Stevie. My own fucking dad thinks I’m dead. What the hell am I going to do?”

“I don’t know…” Steve murmurs from next to him, still stroking through his hair. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. But we’ll figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love Will Byers, man
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be back to more sexy times!


	13. Can't beat the classics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: injury and recovery, weed, blowjobs, finally the sexy times are back  
> Also Hopper is here :)

At some point in the afternoon Billy drifts back off to sleep with Steve lying next to him. When he wakes up, Steve is gone and Hopper is there instead, shifting something around in boxes from the bedroom.  Billy's mouth is dry and feels unpleasantly fuzzy.

Time to face the music.

Slowly, Billy pushes himself upright, leaning back against the bedstead. He gives a cough and a groan and sure enough, Hopper emerges from the bedroom to peer at him suspiciously. He gives a nod when he sees Billy is awake.

“How are you feeling?”

Billy’s tongue flickers out nervously to lick his lips. “Okay. Um. In pain. Could I have some water?”

He’s plenty nervous of Hopper, but bizarrely the Chief seems just as nervous of him. Maybe he’s still worried Billy is still controlled by the darkness and will suddenly start attacking him. Maybe he’s just not used to having a badly injured teenager hanging around his shack. Billy wraps his hands around the chipped mug and looks around the room as he sips at the water. This cannot be where Hopper lives. It’s a dump. Chief of police has to be raking in more than this.

He puts the mug down on an upturned crate near the bed, smoothing down the front of the flannel shirt. He has no idea who dressed him in it. It’s far too big for him, and hangs loose around his stomach. “Uh, Sir? Am I - am I in trouble?”

“No more trouble than the rest of us.” Hopper answers, which isn’t exactly reassuring. He does, however, pull out a kitchen chair and sit opposite the bed, crossing his arms. Okay then, they’re having a conversation now.

Might as well start with the big guns, “Does my dad know I’m alive?”

A muscle twitches in Hopper’s jaw. “No.”

The thought makes Billy feel cold. Neil’s a bastard but he doesn’t deserve that. “Can I tell him?”

“It’s out of my hands, kid.” Hopper’s fingers curl up into fists and Billy stares at them, heart hammering. “A lot of things are out of my hands right now, okay?”

“Yes Sir.”

“You don’t have to call me Sir, kid.”

A bit of spark flashes up into Billy’s eyes, “You don’t have to call me ‘kid’, Chief.”

“Oh don’t I?” They glare at each other, and Hopper relents first. “Okay Hargrove. Let me know if I can get you anything. Food, a book, or whatever.”

“Tape deck.” Billy mutters, stuffing his hands under the blanket so Hopper can’t see them shaking. He can’t remember the last time he came out of that kind of face-off without repercussions. Maybe Hopper is waiting until he’s less injured. “And some tapes. Mötley Crüe, Metallica. Something like that.”

Hopper’s eyes raise. “Well, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime…” Billy flinches as Hopper stands suddenly, but he just stalks to the corner of the room and drags over a dusty looking record player. “If you want music, take a look through the records. Probably not your kind of thing, but the real classics never die, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Billy reaches out a hand and taps the record player gently. “Thanks, Chief.”

* * *

Hopper still has to go to work in the mornings, and when he does Billy is left alone in the house. He’s pretty sure walking is out of the question, but when he levers himself out of the bed he finds he can half-stagger-half-hop, supporting himself against the wall. It hurts like hell, but it’s enough to get him to the dilapidated collection of books, Hopper’s record collection, and the kitchen sink for more water.

Steve appears again after lunch, and with his help Billy makes it all the way to the sofa, where Steve turns on the TV and connects it to the video player. Steve, who is an actual angel, has bought rented videos, KFC, and weed. They end up slouched together on the sofa, stoned and giggling their way through  _ Taxi Driver _ because Steve thought it would be a comedy.

“You talkin’ to me…” Billy slurs at the screen, waving a chicken drumstick around, “I said, you talkin’ to me?”

“It’s funny because, because he’s talking to himself in the mirror…” Steve snickers at the telly.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

“You talkin’ to me, Hargrove?”

“You talkin’ to me!”

“I really wanna blow you Hargrove.”

Billy blinks. Steve’s head has rolled sideways and he’s staring up at Billy with a faint smile. The bruises are still just about visible, ghosting yellow around his eye and jawline. Billy reaches forward to press his fingers against them.

“I should’ve been there with you.” He mumbles. “Should’ve stopped them.”

Steve shudders, “They would’ve killed you, man.”

“You talking to me, Harrington?”

“I’m not joking.” There’s a slightly haunted look in Steve’s eyes and Billy quickly pets his face more, in case that helps. “They would’ve killed you Billy, without even thinking, and- o-ohhh…”

Petting Steve’s face was going nowhere, so Billy pets at his cock instead, tapping against the swelling in his trousers until it’s fully hard. “You said something about a blowjob?”

The endearingly stupid look is back on Steve’s face. Billy slowly slides his legs apart. Steve’s mouth wraps around his cock and pulls it all the way down. Billy’s head bangs back against the sofa as Steve goes to town, sucking down Billy’s cock like it’s his last meal before execution. 

“As soon as you can walk…” Steve murmurs when he comes up for air, “I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t again.”

Billy can barely get a gasp out in reply. His chest is burning, head spinning. Grabbing at Steve’s hair with greasy fingers, he shoves it back in the general direction of his cock, hoping he manages to cum before he passes out.

Steve gets the hint and gets back to it. Billy groans, sobs, and works through the pain until he cums in a rush down Steve’s throat. He looks beautiful there, swallowing between Billy’s legs. Carefully, Billy moves his least injured leg between Steve’s thighs on the floor. 

“Billy?”

“You wanna cum? Work for it.”

“You want me to … hump your leg?”

“I’m not moving.”

Steve gives a whimper, undoing his jeans and releasing his cock. He isn’t exactly humping and he isn’t exactly jerking, but he’s doing a strange mix of the two that is plenty fun to watch. Picking up the remote control, Billy turns down the volume on Travis Bickle’s murder rampage so he can properly watch Steve go glassy-eyed trying to make himself cum. He’s long ago lost track of the film, of who is killing who and why they want to do it. 

“Billy p-please, can’t you give me a hand?”

“No. Sort yourself out.” Billy picks up a hot-wing and grins at him. “I’m injured. I’m recovering. You look hot as fuck down there.”

Steve pouts and whines and looks even hotter, finally managing to cum in a mess down Billy’s leg. An added advantage of being injured is that Steve has to do all the clean up himself, wiping up the mess with a dishcloth and grumbling about where Hopper puts the laundry. Billy watches him with lazy eyes as Steve fusses like a housewife and finally collapses down on the sofa with a groan, staring at the end credits.

“What happened to the taxi guy?”

“He killed a bunch of people.” Billy reaches across to pet Steve’s hair because  _ his _ high hasn’t been ruined by cleaning up, and it looks fluffy, “Changed his hair. I think the girl got out.”

Steve shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “Did you enjoy it? I didn’t enjoy it. Keith said it was meant to be good.”

“It wasn’t bad.” Billy smiles, still petting Steve’s hair.

“I’ll get Animal House next time. Now that one is a  _ classic _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve Harrington: movie critic


	14. Bombshell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopper and Billy. 
> 
> Not sure quite what to warn for except that it's Hopper and Billy forcibly stuck in a cabin together while both incredibly stressed. Also there's some Jonathan in it.

Hopper isn’t sure how he feels about the Hargrove kid. It doesn’t help that the boy is currently occupying the space recently vacated by El, while doing nothing to fill the massive yawning gap in his heart. The men from the government have been very politely clear on the subject. They do not want El anywhere near Hawkins. They want Hopper to stay.

He stumbles back to the cabin each evening to find, not the awkward and wonderful child he’s already fallen more than half in love with, but instead an injured scowling punk and a faint smell of weed. Billy is getting it from somewhere, and Hopper is damned if he’ll ask the boy where. He corners Jonathan Byers instead, in a corner of the library where he’s flipping halfheartedly through an old newspaper.

“That kid, Billy. You and Will go to keep an eye on him sometimes, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“You bring him anything?”

Jonathan frowns, he can tell there’s a question behind that question because he’s a smart kid. He has to be, picked it up out of necessity when Lonnie was still around and needed it even more once Lonnie left. “Sometimes food. Nothing big, why?”

“He’s getting cigarettes from somewhere.” Hopper tries to glare, but Jonathan isn’t easily intimidated. “And a few other things to smoke as well.”

By now, Hopper can tell when people are lying to him, and sure enough Jonathan hesitates and won’t meet his eyes. “I haven’t bought him anything like that.”

“How about your kid brother? Hargrove’s more than half a bully, if he starts threatening the kid…”

Jonathan’s eyes flicker around the library. Hopper knows there’s definitely something here he’s not being told. “Max bought him some stuff from home.” Jonathan finally offers, “Some tapes, clothes, a box from under his bed. He might have had weed in that, I don’t know.”

“Max shouldn’t be bringing him anything from home!” Hopper gets a glare from the librarian and lowers his voice quickly. “He’s meant to be dead! I’ll take that key off you if it happens again.”

Jonathan gives a nod, and Hopper feels a slight tug inside him. Why couldn’t it be this dumb prickly teenager he got stuck with? Sure, Byers is a bit weird, but Hopper trusts him. Respects him even. Whereas Hargrove…

“I’ll talk to Billy.” Jonathan says finally, and Hopper gives a relieved nod back. He tries not to think of the fact that Byers will be gone in a few months, that El and Joyce will be taken out of his life in one cruel slice, leaving him alone in a shack with an angry stoner. Suddenly even the worst moments with El seem like a strange beautiful fantasy world, back when everything was perfect.

He arrives at the cabin late with a scowl and a six pack. The Hargrove kid can walk now, with difficulty, and is limping around with a shifty sort of look, shutting the suspiciously open windows and spraying air freshener at the sofa. There’s a stack of empty pizza boxes in the bin, that Hopper can only hope Byers bought over. 

He clears his throat. Billy stiffens but ignores him. Taking a deep breath, Hopper drops the beer down on the table, “Alright kid, we need to talk.”

He realizes immediately he’s started off on the wrong foot. Hargrove hates being called ‘kid’, because of course he thinks of himself as a big man, not just a dumb confused teenager. Billy is already bristling, hands clenching and face twisting into a sneer. It’s incredibly tempting to step forward and slap the sneer off him, but Hopper manages to restrain himself. Billy is not some irritating guard or a smug senator, he’s an injured teenage boy who relies on Hopper for literally everything. It’s not the time or place.

There doesn’t seem to be a sensible way to approach it, so Hopper settles for waving his hand around at the room in general. “Smells good. Fresh. That air spray stuff isn’t bad, is it?”

Billy isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what Hopper means. The air freshener bounces off the floor, having been thrown with some force. “You got a problem, Chief?”

“I’ve got a problem with you smoking in here. You’re meant to be healing. Recovering. Not dosing your body up with fuck knows what. If something happens while I’m not here-”

“It’s weed, Chief, not crystal meth.”

“And I don’t want it in my cabin!”

Billy’s teeth are clenched, shoulders raising. He looks like an angry feral cat. With a groan, Hopper snaps off a beer and throws it at him, faintly impressed when Billy manages to catch it. “Sit on the damn sofa before you fall over.”

So of course Billy stays standing, glaring at him mutinously as he opens the beer. “Didn’t realize you approved of underage drinking, Chief.”

“I don’t. Don’t approve of anything going on in here right now.” Hopper grabs a beer for himself, because both of them having alcohol in their systems will clearly only make this better. “You need to act more dead.”

“My dad is planning my  _ funeral _ .” Billy hisses at him, “Susan is picking the flowers. Is that dead enough for you, Chief?”

Hopper doesn’t want to relive the moment when he had to tell Neil Hargrove his only son died in an explosion at Starcourt Mall. God knows it had never been pleasant with Sara, but at least it had never been a surprise. “Where did you get the pizza from?”

Billy hesitates, “Byers.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

“Uh…” Billy’s eyes flicker, and Hopper is completely fucking done with teenagers lying to him. His beer hits the table with a thud and Billy jumps, looking spooked. 

“Which one, Hargrove? Is it the same one you bully into getting you weed?”

“I didn’t - I don’t…”

“Is it Max?”

“Fuck you, it’s not Max!”

They’re both getting angry now, and Hopper knows this is a shit idea. But damn if he isn’t spoiling for a fight and he doesn’t seem to be the only one. “Tell me where you got it!”

“Or what?” Billy snaps, hard and challenging. “You’ll chuck me out? Set the evil government forces on me?”

Hopper strides forward, grabbing the front of Billy’s shirt and propelling him bodily into the wall. The beer falls to the floor with a thump and rolls away to join the air freshener. Billy’s breath comes in desperate pained gasps, his hands fluttering by his sides, eyes wide and glassy. “As far as this state, this country, and this goddam world is concerned you, Billy Hargrove, are legally dead. I can do what I fucking like with you, but I don’t. Because I’m nice. All I ask, kid,  _ all _ I ask, is that you stop carrying out illegal activities in my fucking cabin, alright?”

“Fuck you.” Billy whispers softly at the floor. 

Hopper takes a deep calming breath. He takes several, in the hope that one of them will actually be calming. Slowly he lets the hold on Billy’s shirt go. The kid is actively shaking against the wall, and Hopper suddenly feels very stupid. Stupid, old and worn out. He’s well past his paygrade here.

Billy’s beer is leaking all over the wood, soaking into the frayed sofa. Hopper picks it up and rights it, dropping it on the table and picking up the rest of the six-pack. “I’m going into the bedroom, and I’m gonna drink myself into a stupor then fall asleep. You are going to stay out here and not fucking bother me. That way maybe we’ll both get through the night.”

“You really do fuck up every kid you come into contact with.” Billy whispers, and Hopper feels the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you do.”

It’s a ploy, Hopper knows. Billy’s pushing. He’s realized Hopper has a breaking point and now he’s trying to find it, trying to work out how bad it’ll be. What Hopper’s worried about is that he might succeed. “Kid, shut up.”

Billy’s tongue flickers out over his lips. His voice is still low. “Is that why they took the girl away from you?”

One hit, Hopper thinks, just one hit. Nobody would know. Nobody would judge him. Hargrove would hit the floor and maybe learn a goddam lesson for once in his life. 

He turns around and stares Billy down, taking a deep swig of the beer. “You want to stop talking before you get hurt.”

Hargrove glares back, but he’s no Jonathan Byers. He’s visibly wilting under Hopper’s look. With a shudder Billy looks away, wrapping an arm around his chest, over the bandages. Hopper feels his anger dissolve in a wave of helplessness. He can drink, he can shout, he can smack Billy Hargrove into next week, but that won’t change the fact that the kid is correct. Hopper has had two families, one normal, one highly weird, and both of them have been smashed apart. 

It takes two more swigs to finish the beer and when he’s done Hopper crunches the can with one meaty fist. The edge of the metal digging into his skin feels good, driving some clarity into the world. Billy’s face is red, twisting up a little like he’s desperately trying not to cry.  Hopper takes a step forward and Billy’s shoulders try to worm themselves into the woodwork, his eyes widening in alarm. Ah. So he's fucked this up pretty badly then. Majorly fucked up.

Shit. He’s really not up to dealing with this right now. But that’s the thing with kids, he remembers Joyce Byers saying, they make things happen whether you’re ready to deal with them or not. Hopper forces himself to take a breath, to try and relax his features into something less like a scowl and more like a smile. “Look ki-Hargrove. I’m sorry.” That feels like a pretty big start. “We’ve got the two of us living here, both on edge, both a bit rough around the edges. We need to set, uh, set boundaries, right? Build an environment where we don’t want to claw each other's faces off.”

“Steve Harrington.” It comes out as a whisper. So quiet Hopper isn’t even sure he’s heard it. He takes a step closer.

“What?”

“Steve Harrington.” Billy raises his head to look Hopper in the eyes and Hopper suddenly realizes that this has gone way past majorly fucked up. This is in whole new territories of fucked up, as yet uncharted. Billy’s lips are drawn back into a snarl, his hand clenched against the bandages on his chest like a cornered animal ready to strike. 

“Steve Harrington brings me weed.” Billy taunts. There’s a light in his eyes, a strange sort of triumph like he thinks he’s holding the winning card in whichever sort of game they’re playing. Hopper only wishes he knew the rules. “He comes in here with the Byers’s key, and he gives me weed, and when we’re done smoking I blow his dick on your sofa.”

He has to respond, Hopper knows. He has to say something or do something. Joyce would sit down calmly and sensibly to discuss it. Neil Hargrove would probably give the kid the slap he’s so desperately asking for. Even Karen Wheeler would probably manage to find it in her to say  _ something _ . But Hopper just stands, rooted to the floor, useless and hopeless because he has absolutely  _ no idea what to do _ ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering this was meant to be a collection of smutty one-shots, there is really very little sex in this *headdesk*. 
> 
> I'll take Steve's ass-virginity one day! We will get there. Just bear with me while Billy gets some of the trauma out of his system.
> 
> Thank you all so much for still reading this dumbassery.


	15. Out of the bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: first-time, inappropriate use of butter, way too much fluff   
> Also this is, to all intents and purposes, the final chapter.

Steve is so used to turning up at Hopper’s cabin by now that he barely thinks twice about it. Parking the bimmer at the bottom of the woods he juggles the beer and burgers up the hill, digging around in his pocket for Jonathan’s key and opening the door with a cheerful, “Honey, I’m home!”

Hopper is there, sitting on a kitchen chair with his arms folded, staring at the door. Billy is sitting on the bed, half hunched over, eyes red. Steve’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of them, slightly stumped for a reaction. “Um … hi Hopper…”

“Harrington.” Hopper stands up, and Steve doesn’t miss the way Billy’s eyes track the man’s movements. Something has happened, something big. Steve gives a scowl, dropping the beer and food neatly by the door and trying to mentally prepare himself to square up to Hopper. If he has to do that he will, even though it’s only likely to increase his total of fights lost.

“What happened?” He tries, attempting to sound aggressive. It doesn’t have the desired effect of intimidating Hopper, but it does at least make Billy give a faint smile. “Did … is everything okay?”

“No. Everything is not okay.” Hopper snaps back, then to Steve’s surprise he gives a glance at Billy and manages to calm himself down a little. “Everything is … look. You shouldn’t be here, Harrington.”

“Yeah I know, but I figured Billy needed some, some friendly company.” Steve tries in a sudden burst of inspiration. “That’s why I’m here. Just so he has someone to talk to, and-” he can see Billy shaking his head, “No? I - what’s going on?”

“Well that’s pretty much what I want to know, Harrington.” Hopper answers.

Nervously, Steve bites his lip. “Uh … we’re friends?”

“Have you two been … canoodling on my sofa?”

There’s a snort of laughter from Billy, which he obligingly muffles as they both turn to glare at him. Steve can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast. “Billy? What did you - what have you said?”

“I’ve heard his side of the story.” Hopper takes a conciliatory step back and motions at the bed. “Sit down if you want. I just want to hear yours before I work out who to yell at and what for.”

The bed creaks underneath him as Steve sits down. Hopper and Billy are looking at him with a certain amount of guarded interest. It feels singularly unfair to Steve that he’s been called to explain what’s going on between him and Billy, when he doesn’t even know himself what’s going on. Is he Billy’s friend with blowjobs? His lover? His boyfriend? All answers have the potential to get him into trouble with one or both of them.

Hesitantly, he clears his throat. “Well … yeah. I mean we were, we were fooling about a bit before, and then when Billy got possessed obviously we weren’t and now…” he waves his hands around vaguely.

Both of them look deeply unimpressed. Not a good start.

“Yeah.” He finally settles for. “We were … uh …  _ canoodling. _ On your sofa.”

Billy doesn’t meet his eyes. Hopper leans forward and rests his arms on his knees. “Alright. That’s question one. Question two - do you make him do it to pay for weed?”

“What!” Steve yelps in alarm, starting to panic slightly. He’s almost certain that isn’t what’s happening, but even as Hopper says it he begins to doubt. Next to him, Billy leans back and bangs his head against the wall with a groan.

“I told you Chief, that isn’t what happened.”

“That’s not what you said at first.” Hopper glared.

“Yeah well I said a lot of things. Most of it was bullshit. I was just being a dick, okay?”

“There is no -” Steve splutters, “No way I would  _ ever  _ do something like that. Billy, I’m sorry, if you thought I wanted, or needed … man I just want to be with you! I like it. It feels right. Everything in this town seems to be trying to kill us, and then I’m with you and finally it feels fucking  _ safe _ , you know? I can just relax, and enjoy this one goddam thing that actually feels good.”

His voice is hitching and Steve stops quickly before he starts doing something stupid like crying. He doesn’t want to look at Billy, waiting for him to laugh or sneer, but instead he feels Billy’s hand reach up and gently stroke through the back of his hair.

Hopper looks slightly flummoxed. 

“I told you.” Billy says quietly to Hopper. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of what I said. I got scared, and I wanted to hurt you.”

Steve carefully pats Billy’s leg. “Are you OK, Billy?”

“We had a bit of a bust up last night.” Billy answers, still looking at Hopper. “I said some dumb shit, and the Chief almost thumped me in the mouth with a crushed up beer can.”

“ _ Hopper _ did that?”

There’s an annoyed-sounding cough from Hopper, “I wouldn’t have hit you, Hargrove.”

“You looked like you were gonna.” There’s a guarded look in Billy’s eyes and Steve squeezes his leg again. “Don’t think anyone would blame you if you did.”

“I would.” Steve clarifies. “I would definitely blame you, and I would definitely fight you.” Billy gives another snort of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, I would lose. But I’d still fight you.”

A quiet sort of calm settles across the room as Hopper looks at them, thinking. Finally he gives a nod and straightens up. “Okay. Here are the rules. No weed, no drinking when I’m not here, no ordering takeout or ordering  _ anything _ for delivery to the cabin. If you wanna, well, any of that, you do it in your bed or the backseat of the car like decent god-fearing Americans okay? Not on my sofa.”

“Okay.” Steve nods quickly, and there’s a slightly slower, “Okay…” from Billy.

“And here’s the promises. I won’t ever hit you, either of you, understood? I won’t give you any grief about … whatever it is you get up to. Just try and do it safe. You got any questions, well, you can ask me although I probably won’t know any of the answers.”

This time it’s just Billy who answers. “Okay, Chief.”

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen, boys.” Hopper runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly sad. “I don’t know when they’ll take El away from me, or how long it’ll be till I see her again. I don’t know how long Hargrove has to stay hidden for, or whether they’ll need to talk to any of us about the Russians. But I do know how it feels, to have someone who makes you feel safe. I’m not going to take that away from you two, alright? Just not on my sofa.”

That seems to be the end of the conversation. Billy’s leg is trembling under his grip, so Steve stays sat next to him while Hopper grabs his things and heads off to work. It’s not until Hopper’s gone that he lets himself slowly turn to look at Billy, and then quickly looks away again while Billy wipes his eyes.

“C’mere Harrington.” 

Billy’s arms wrap around him and pull him close. Steve collapses onto Billy’s chest like he did way back the first time they were at the motel. He can feel Billy’s heart loud and heavy against the bandages covering his chest.

“That was … awkward.” He tries.

“Fucking awkward.” Billy answers in a relieved rush. “That was some good shit you came out with for Hopper though.” 

The staccato thump of Billy’s heart is nervous and jittery. Steve twines his fingers into Billy’s and shakes his head against Billy’s skin. “You know that wasn’t just for Hopper.”

“Really?”

“Don’t make me repeat it Hargrove.”

Billy laughs, and Steve feels the sound vibrating through his head. “Fuck you, I want you to repeat it. I liked hearing it.”

They lie there in peaceful silence for a while, as Billy’s hand strokes at Steve’s back, and then strokes a little lower. Steve sighs, shifts in his arms and then comes to a decision.

“Billy?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Billy’s whole body stills, and his heart rate goes crazy again. “Don’t be dumb, Stevie. Just because Hopper’s graciously allowed us to  _ canoodle _ behind his back doesn’t turn us into Romeo and fucking Juliet.”

“No, I want it.”

“Really? Right now? While I can barely walk?”

“No better time.” Steve gives a lazy smile. “This way I stand a chance of fighting you off if you get rough.”

“Jesus, Harrington, you pick your fucking moments, don’t you?”

* * *

It seemed very romantic when he was lying against Billy’s chest on the bed with the light shining through the tarpaulin over the roof. It’s a lot less romantic on his hands and knees with his ass covered in butter, wincing as Billy tries to slip a second finger inside him.

“Ow, ow, ow, fuuuck. Can’t you just fuck me?”

“If you can’t fit two fingers in your ass there’s no way you’re taking my dick.”

“It hurts!”

“It was your idea.”

“Fine, fine…” Steve groans, dropping his head down, “Just … can you say something? Or be more sexy? I have no idea what you’re doing back there.”

The fingers slide away from his ass and the next thing he knows, Billy gives him a shove that sends him sprawling. Steve gasps, and then Billy is right on top of him, one finger curling wickedly down between his legs while his teeth snap an inch away from Steve’s nose.

“Be more sexy? Seriously?”

“It’s hard…” Steve huffs, face twisting up as Billy’s finger stubbornly presses him open again, “A-ahh … it’s hard to relax when it’s so quiet and, oww!”

“You took me  _ dry _ in my car, Harrington.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry Billy, I - ahh!” 

The second finger is in, but this time Billy’s head drops by his ear, and Billy starts whispering all the filthy things Steve has made him do over the last month, starting with the ice-cream scoop and working up from there. By the time Billy’s dick gets into him, Steve is a panting, moaning wreck. The sharp pain of the entrance is more than made up for by Billy’s hand wrapping around his cock and Billy’s voice murmuring into his ear, “Just think of how badly you’re gonna  _ wreck _ me when you finally get me into your car.”

It doesn’t make him cum, but Steve definitely manages to cross over the border from actively uncomfortable to a sort of tingling pleasure. Billy cums deep inside him, panting up at the ceiling, and Steve stares up at him in a hazy wash of love and thinks that pretty much makes it all worth it. 

He gets a blowjob to finish, and Billy takes his time with it, licking and sucking and melting him down into a boneless pleasure-fueled haze. He cums with a finger up his ass and Billy’s name on his lips, snuggling down afterwards into the warm easy body next to him.

“What are we, Billy?” he murmurs softly, as the aftershocks fade away taking them slowly back to normality. They never really did have that conversation, and now seems as good a time as any.

“I don’t know.” Billy answers, but it isn’t said flippantly. It sounds like he’s really thinking about it. “I mean, I’m still legally dead. Maybe I always will be. I don’t even know what I am, so how the hell am I supposed to know what  _ we _ are? What if you get some fancy job and your dad moves you out of Hawkins? I wouldn’t blame you for going.”

“I don’t want to leave Hawkins, I just…” Steve starts, but then stops. This isn’t what he wants to talk about. Who knows what the fuck will happen in the future, where they’ll both end up. That isn’t what they need to discuss. “Fine. You don’t know what we are.”

“Yeah.”

“So I guess the question is, if we don’t know what we are, what is it that we want to be?” Steve rolls over so he can look Billy in the eyes, gently kissing his forehead, “What is it that you want us to be, Billy Hargrove?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a ride, thanks guys!


	16. Epilogue: 20 years later

_ Hawkins is a weird place. Strange things happened there. Some of them are still happening. _

_ There’s a house on the edge of town, abandoned and over-grown. They tried to sell it once, but there’s something up with the electricity supply. The lights keep flickering. Sometimes the walls talk. _

_ Walk down to the woods in the daytime, you might find the cabin where the Chief of Police lives with the Dead Mechanic. If you go down there late at night you might see them together, or you might find nothing at all but an empty forest. Don’t spend too long in the forest. They say it can make people disappear. _

_ The main town is just beyond the old abandoned steel works. It’s full of death and mouldy decay in there, no developer will touch it. One of them must have at one point though, because there’s no living creature that could’ve caved the roof in like that. There are never any rats. _

_ If you want some real strange stories, try the guy who runs the AV store. He’s tall and gangly, with a mop of dark hair and a sad sort of emptiness in his eyes. He’ll tell tales about a girl who made things move with her mind. The way he tells them, you wonder if they're true. You wonder if he was maybe a bit in love with her. _

_ Every Friday, the Dead Mechanic comes by the AV store to use the computer in the back room. He’s sending an email to his sister, who lives out west. His name-tag says Bill, but everyone you meet will call him the Dead Mechanic. He works down at the garage, his unruly blond hair slicked back with grease, and is paid cash in hand. For some reason the IRS never seem to bother him.  _

_ It’s a strange place, Hawkins, but there’s never any trouble. The new Chief of Police will tell you that. He’s lived here all his life, been a policeman for 15 years, and he says Hawkins is the quietest town there is. Worst thing they had to deal with was that Mormon girl who came up for her honeymoon and got attacked by an owl right by her husband’s old school. You might think it seems strange that a man who sees no trouble keeps a bat with nails in it stashed behind his desk. _

_ Don’t bother asking about it though. He won’t tell you. He’ll just smile, in that easy light-hearted way he has, then go back to the cabin in the woods where he lives with the Dead Mechanic. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are done! This was never meant to be this long or this involved. It was meant to be one shots of pornography. It got away from me.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented, and encouraged me through in these crazy difficult times. I'm sorry to finish it, because reading your comments has made this isolation bearable. But finishing this one frees me up to write more angsty-porny-character-exploration goodness.


End file.
